


A Fair Exchange

by Quiddity



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: M/M, Slow Burn, mermaid au, my on brand drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:48:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23483347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quiddity/pseuds/Quiddity
Summary: The water lurches. Up the wall, over his sleeve and Hubert has only enough time to push himself upright before that orange mass is back again, bigger, faster, sweeping towards the surface.A sheet of water crashes over him as he stumbles back. A shock of cold in his face, pouring into his collar and soaking his shirt through when he lands on his back. He sputters, struggles to breathe between the fall and faint tang of blood and water in his mouth. He paws water from his face, blinks it out of his eyes just in time to see a massive, golden fin slip back over the wall.That damned merman had decided to sleep in this fountain tonight.Hubert really shouldn't care about dropping his razor into the canal. It's not worth much, and he already has a replacement. But Enbarr's only merman, Ferdinand, is hoarding it in his collection of coins, right there in front of the opera house, and more than anything Hubert can't bear to let a fish hold a single thing over him.
Relationships: Dorothea Arnault/Edelgard von Hresvelg, Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 46
Kudos: 227





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've been trying to work on some kind of Mermaid AU for like two years and I finally have something to post. Ya'll I got too many wips laying around. Everything is slow burn. 
> 
> Ferdibert is the obsession of my soul and turning Ferdie into a beautiful and dangerous cryptid is something deserving of my bucket list. Alternative Title: Everything Hubert Must Do Is Very Hard And Causes Him Distress. I hope ya'll enjoy.

It’s cold enough tonight that he regrets not wearing his heavy jacket. Half an hour, and it wouldn’t have been a huge deal, but he’s nearing a second hour in this place and he’s feeling it. He’s sitting on the second balcony of one of Enbarr’s larger drinking establishments, sipping at spiked coffee and steadily flipping the pages of his book. Pretending like he belongs there. As little as he cares for the raucous livelihood of bars, he’s made a point to spend enough evenings here to make his presence unremarkable. On the balcony, he’s granted fantastic views both over the railing into the ground floor below, and outside the wide window on his other side. Enbarr’s main thoroughfare looms deeply shadowed, but open, the shapes of passersby easily picked out. Blind spots directly below him, but it doesn’t matter tonight. The man he’s looking for doesn’t know he’s being followed.

But goddess, he better show up soon. The cold seeping in through the window is making his arms stiff. He turns a page in his book but instead of keeping his eyes to the page, he rolls his shoulders and takes the excuse to glance out the window at an approaching group. Six or seven people slowly making their way down the street towards the bar. They’re clad in thick fabrics, fur tufting out of collars and cuffs. Prepared for sharp late autumn weather. But many jackets and coats are open down to the stomach, one even carrying his slung over his shoulder, like they had found themselves better acclimated than they expected. In an instant Hubert recognizes them as Faerghans.

One, a broad, blond woman near the front of the group stops short and stares into the canal. At first Hubert, from his perch above, has an obscured view of the sluggish dark waters below and can’t see what she does. But a rush of excitement washes over the others and quickly they form themselves into a tight knit line along the edge of the canal. They’re nearly jostling each other pointing into the dark waters. Hubert sits further up in his chair and devotes more of his attention to the window. It can only be…

Of course.

He appears like a bright ghost from beneath the surface. One moment nothing but dark, gentle waves and in the next an expanse of fiery scales twists, broad heart-shaped fin sweeping above the water. Enbarr’s only merman coming to inspect some strangely dressed visitors. Long red hair clings to his shoulders as he treads water and watches the group dig coins out of their pockets to flick them into the canal around him. Hubert sees him occasionally, but he’s never found reason to give him much notice. Why should he? If he’s got a name, Hubert doesn’t know it. Hells, he doesn’t even remember when he’d first seen the merman around the city.

A coin hits the water just in front of the merman’s chest. He startles, and in a single, powerful beat of his tail he’s disappeared. The Faerghans as a whole wilt for a moment, but it’s quickly forgotten as they about face into the bar. Hubert watches them long enough to listen to their orders (enough beer like they hadn’t just tossed some of their coin into the water) before he remembers he’s supposed to be looking for someone else entirely. He takes a sip of his coffee and tucks his book under his arm to move downstairs. No more distractions.

***

The streets of Enbarr echo in the early morning hours. The city, grand and audaciously beautiful in daylight, becomes a quiet stone monument after dark. As a child, it had scared him; the wide dark streets held monsters only seen in his imagination. As an adult, he finds the same darkness freeing. There are uncountable places to deal with those in Edelgard’s way. In such a vast, maze-like city, the task more or less becomes a matter of simply tossing a body over the outer wall for the crows.

It’s still a couple hours before dawn as Hubert winds his way through the city’s center. The stones are dark, cold in the flickering light of the street lanterns. The broad canals that run through the city cut black chasms along and across the streets, their sluggish flow barely heard over the sound of his boots. The imperial palace looms massive in his view as he emerges from an alleyway into the broad main street. The canal he’d been following widens and joins with several others to accumulate into the round, circular fountain in front of the opera house.

Well, Hubert thinks, cutting quickly to the right, his razor tucked into the slick palm of his leather glove, he’s always thought of it more as a fountain because of the statue of an eagle jutting out of the center, but it was truly more of a pool. Fed by the soft roar of the canals running over dams from the north, but so deep the surface is nearly still as he leans over the thigh high wall and glances into the black void.

The lanterns leave scattered orange ripples along the surface and the base of the statue glitters with a thin layer of coins gathered from people making wishes. Hubert pinches his sleeve, tugs it up his arm as he dips his bloodied razor in and flicks it back and forth. He catches the faintest hint of red along the water’s surface, the shiny glint of sharp steel coming into focus. Beyond it, deeper, something maybe gold, maybe orange. It shifts so quickly that Hubert thinks of those thick, calico fish kept in the palace gardens, drawn by the movement.

The water lurches. Up the wall, over his sleeve and Hubert has only enough time to push himself upright before that orange mass is back again, bigger, faster, sweeping towards the surface.

A sheet of water crashes over him as he stumbles back. A shock of cold in his face, pouring into his collar and soaking his shirt through when he lands on his back. He sputters, struggles to breathe between the fall and faint tang of blood and water in his mouth. He paws water from his face, blinks it out of his eyes just in time to see a massive, golden fin slip back over the wall.

That damned merman had decided to sleep in this fountain tonight.

“You wicked beast,” he growls, pushing himself back to his feet. His clothes cling unpleasantly to his skin. He clenches both hands, opens them, turns to scan the street for his razor. The stones shine wet, but that’s all there is. He whips back to the fountain and finds the merman treading water there, long red hair flowing around his shoulders, a series of thin gold chains held suspended about his neck. “Where is my razor?” The merman is quiet for a long moment, bright eyes narrow, angry.

“How shall I know?” He finally responds. He has a strange, almost singing quality around his words. “Perhaps you dropped it in the water when you stumbled.” Hubert takes a step closer and the merman retreats with a single, powerful beat of his tail as the merman tries to hide his smug grin beneath the water’s surface. Hubert grips the edge of the wall, releases a slow, angry breath.

A grin that says the merman knows exactly where he’s dropped his razor. Knows that, with the way he’s hesitating, he’s unwilling to go in and get it. The merman laughs, dogging him to the edge of the pool when he quickly gives up and stalks away down the street, his clothes damp and uncomfortable and smelling vaguely like fish and silt. There is no shame in it, he tells himself furiously. Only a madman would dare the waters with that thing over a worthless razor.

  
  


***

  
  


“Helena Voronin.” She bows, like a man, at the base of the stairs. Hubert, standing beside Edelgard’s throne, can’t decide if it’s personal habit or if she’s trying to make a statement. “Just as your herald described.” Definitely some kind of ‘free’ attitude towards nobility at the very least. Hubert bristles. He glances to Edelgard. He’s not surprised by the tiny, amused smile around her mouth but that doesn’t mean he’s any less peeved on her behalf.

“What brings you to Enbarr?” he says. Too curt for a throne room. Edelgard warns him with a twitch of her fingers. He debates whether or not he sees it. Voronin’s smile lines suggests that she might have.

“Count Rowe of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus has commissioned my humble business to bring some of his goods to your lovely city to trade. Specifically, he has told me to return with something novel to impress his peers in Fhirdiad. I’m exceedingly grateful Your Majesty has honored me with this chance to make my introductions and, if I may, allow me to ask if you could point me in the right direction.” She speaks with a noticeable, but not overly thick, Faerghan accent. Likely trained for higher class and foreign clientele. A woman who knows how to woo her audience. Hubert doubts the rest of her group are the same, as she’s left them at the door. One of them laughs with a member of the guard. “I also would like to offer you the first chance to pick what you please from my wares.”

“Well met, Voronin,” Edelgard says. “Has Enbarr treated you well thus far?”

“Oh, certainly. Our accommodations are better than we’re used to. I’ve even had a glimpse of your merman living in the canals,” she says, and after a short, but noticeable pause. “He’s gorgeous.”

Hubert thinks that he quite disagrees.

“Ferdinand?” Edelgard starts. He wonders how she knew his name before he did, and files it in his mind around ‘that damned overgrown fish’. Edelgard continues. “I’m not terribly surprised. I heard he’s rather curious about people.” Hubert carefully schools his irritation out of his expression.

“Would you…?” Voronin visibly reconsiders. “Ah, nevermind. Would you like to take a look through our goods when you are not busy? Our cart is small enough to fit in the courtyard.”

‘You will put that dusty cart wherever I tell you,’ Hubert thinks. He says nothing, just looks to Edelgard for an answer. She nods.

“Yes, I think I’ll make some time around lunch to take a look. Hubert will show you where you can set up shortly. I’ll try to have some suggestions as to what ‘novelty’ to look for when we meet then,” Edelgard says. Hubert instantly starts tossing around for what underling he can shove that task onto. “I look forward to it. It was nice meeting you. I hope you enjoy your time here,” she says. She hardly has to wave before Voronin already takes that as an end to the conversation, bows again, and makes her way out.

  
  


***

  
  


“What are you thinking?” Edelgard asks. He only sees the crown of her head past the stack of books on her desk, but he doesn’t need to see her face to know the tightened, worried expression she’s giving her paperwork. Hubert leans back in his chair, glancing out the window at the bright, clear autumn afternoon.

“Nothing of any importance, my lady,” Downplay. “What do you think of that merchant woman?” And deflect.

Edelgard’s chair scrapes over the stone floor as she pushes back from the desk, leaning over the wooden arm to stare him down. “Now I know something’s bothering you.Voronin would have never been of any interest to either of us unless you were avoiding talking about something else.”

Damn her. She knew him too well.

He sighs and pushes his hair back out of his face as he tosses around for a suitably convincing tale, because how stupid that he would be this bothered by a damned merman, of all things. This only seems to convince Edelgard further. Chin in hand, she gives him a small, knowing grin.

“Well? Tell then, it does no good to have you distracted at work,” she presses. Hubert growls and decides to just give up on it. She’ll know if he lies to her.

“That fucking merman stole my razor last night.” Edelgard pauses. Her lower lip slowly disappearing as she sits up and scoots her chair back in. It’s not until she’s once again hidden behind her stack of books that Hubert hears her soft, strained laughter.

“Don’t,” he sighs, defeated.

“I can’t help it, Hubert,” she says, her voice a notch too high as she carefully speaks around her smile. His chest warms, because it’s a rare sound coming from Edelgard, but at the same time, it’s not quite the same when it’s at his expense. “How did he even- Hells-” a muffled giggle. “You must be furious.”

“ _I am_.” He waits patiently while Edelgard composes herself, setting aside some of her books to better see him.

“So? What are you going to do about it? Will you just let him keep it?” She asks. Her quill twitches as she signs some paperwork, sets it carefully aside to dry as she begins reading the next page.

“No!” The answer comes as a surprise. A revelation of something he hadn’t realized he’d already decided on. Edelgard recognizes it at a glace and her grin once again threatens at the corner of her mouth.

“Oh? Worried he’ll cut himself on it?” She teases.

“Of course not,” he huffs. He pushes out of his chair and paces over, gathering the documents she’s finished with and sorting them by who they must be returned to. Normally he would wait and do them all at once when Edelgard finished but… he simply can’t sit still while she’s teasing him over such a ridiculous situation. “He’s probably tried to eat the damn thing for all I know.” Edelgard hums, finger holding her spot on the page as she thinks.

“Do you think he would be willing to trade it back? I’ve heard he gets along well with the opera company.” Again, Hubert thinks, how does she know that and he doesn’t? His own ignorance annoys him, especially since it’s his own fault. He had never considered the merman (Ferdinand, he has to remind himself) relevant to himself, and thus had never bothered to learn anything about it. Certainly biting him in the ass now.

“Go to the kitchens and get him a fish?” Edelgard adds.

“I believe there are plenty of fish in the canals.”

“Then ask them what they have on hand,” she pins him with a firm look when he blanches. “I’m sure it will look no more strange than whatever led you to get your razor close enough to Ferdinand for him to steal it. Besides, what does it matter? You’re a powerful person.” Hubert sighs thickly.

“Alright, I’ll at least try.” Edelgard’s smile betrays how much fun she’s having with this.

“I expect a full report tomorrow.”

  
  


***

  
  


It’s nearing dark by the time he finishes his work in the palace. Normally, he would like to retreat to his rooms with a cup of coffee and begin on tomorrow’s work, but tonight he finds his way into the warmth of the kitchens and awkwardly looming near the counter. The maid doesn’t notice him at first. She’s too focused on humming some folksy tune that only stutters briefly as she drags a crate of vegetables towards her workspace. She stands, yelps, and drops an onion onto the counter.

“Lord von Vestra! How may I help you, sir?” she stammers out. Hubert feels too tall, too intimidating for the moment and he realizes he doesn’t quite know how to ask for what he needs.

“Ah…” he starts. “What are your plans for dinner?” Her mouth drops open in shock and she stops blindly pawing for her dropped onion to just stare at him. Her cheeks flush red as the fire.

“U-uh-” a shaky breath. “S-sir!”

It takes far too long for Hubert to realize what she’s thinking. He clears his throat and aches to just turn around and walk away. Buy something from a stall instead. Better yet, do nothing, tell Edelgard her plan didn’t work and have someone catch that damned fish and throw it into the ocean. “I mean to ask, what are you cooking, miss?”

She looks around, flustered, as if she can’t remember. “The head chef had a couple of lambs slaughtered this morning for stew tonight.”

“Can you spare some of the meat for me?” A quizzical look. “Now? Uncooked, please, if it’s not too late,” he says. The maid, now more confused than ever, reaches under the counter and pulls out a clean, white towel, spreading it out on the cutting board.

“Do you have a preference, sir?”

“I don’t necessarily need anything high quality.” At her glance when she holds up a small, bony leg piece, he nods. “That will do.”

  
  


***

  
  


Hubert squints into the setting sun as he steps out of the palace grounds and makes his way down the street towards the opera house. He has no idea where, or even if, he’ll find the merman tonight. But seeing the coins collected around the eagle’s feet in the pool, he feels pretty confident in his guess that would be one of his regular haunts.

Coming within view of the pool, an unfamiliar anxiety rises in his chest. Like in the moments before an important meeting, or nearing an event he had been looking forward to. But why? He’d had one unfortunate run in with this merman, who had before then merely been an unremarkable feature of Enbarr. What did he have to look forward to? He wonders as he approaches the fountain and sets the pink tinged towel atop the surrounding wall. The square is blessedly empty, the few citizens walking past out of earshot and so eager to either get home or to the bar they pay him no mind.

He can see better this evening. The water is dark but crystal clear, filtered by the dams around the city filled with small stones and fine sand that guide the water through the city and towards the sea. Gold, silver and copper coins glitter at the bottom, perhaps ten to twelve feet down. If he looks closer, he can see the dark shapes of green and brown fish winding through the slowly flowing waters. But no red hair or broad fins. The merman isn’t here and Hubert doesn’t quite know how he feels about it.

Frustration, surely, because he’d just like to get this over with and go back to pretending the merman didn’t exist. Disappointment, perhaps, for the same reason. Some impatience as well, but that still doesn’t explain the nerviness under his skin as he fingers the shape of the lamb through the towel and wonders what he should do with it. Probably just throw it in the water and let the fish pick at it.

A loud splash cuts through his thoughts and he glances up at the dam at the north end of the rounded pool to see the waterfall sputter and part into two as the merman pulls himself on top of it and settles on his scaly hips. His hair is auburn when wet, clinging in long strands around strong shoulders and defined chest. Hubert sees now that, along with the necklaces cascading from his neck, both of his wrists are covered in a small handful of bracelets, without rhyme or reason for color or style. Water piles and sheets over the muscular curve of a bright orange tail. Hubert finds himself enthralled by color and shape, a sudden realization that this is a work of nature he’s been ignorant to. The merman.

No, Ferdinand.

He stretches, arching his back and lifting the bulk of his tail out of the water, mindless of the water pooling in the small of his back, over clawed hands clutching stone. Ferdinand yawns wide and even from here Hubert can see- His teeth! So sharp it raises the hair on the back of his neck. Then Ferdinand opens one eye, notes him with a flinch. He snaps his mouth shut and narrows his eyes on him. Hubert wouldn’t have known he’d moved at all if he hadn’t been watching him. He slips off of the dam and into the pool with an eerie silence for his size. He stares until Ferdinand swims near, then takes several quick steps back from the water.

But Ferdinand doesn’t splash him again, as he expects. Instead, the merman digs his claws into the stone, pulls himself up next to the wrapped lamb.

“You are back,” he hums, eyeing Hubert warily. Hubert feels much the same, maintaining his distance. Ferdinand gives the towel a suspicious look. He braces one arm on the wall and pulls up the corner of the cloth. He wrinkles his nose and Hubert hates the disappointment he feels at the thought of the merman not liking his offer.

“Is this a piece of the poor sod you were getting rid of yesterday?” A lilting question, again the strange melodic accent.

“Of course not.” A pang, when the merman looks genuinely surprised. That he hadn’t brought him human flesh, or that Hubert would so easily admit exactly to what he had been doing yesterday? “It’s… lamb…” he says. Ferdinand deftly tugs the lamb from the towel, letting the latter flutter to the ground as he slips back into the water. By the time Hubert nears and looks over the edge the merman is already chewing.

“I had meant it as an exchange,” Hubert prompts. The merman ignores him, licking his lips. Not even glancing his way as he gnaws off another chunk, crunching through the bone as if it were hardly there. Hubert can see him treading water. His belly flexes, and the motion ripples, slow and languid, along the length of his tail. A shimmer. He’s even got a long, delicate silver chain knotted near the end of his tail. “If you could give me my razor-”

“I do not like you using my nest for washing whatever filthy thing you happen to have in your hands,” the merman interrupts. He shoots him an irritated look, golden eyes flashing with anger. Ah, so he won’t be totally forgiven just with a bit of lamb, Hubert thinks.

“Nest?” Hubert starts. “Ah.” That explained the collection of coins around the statue’s feet. He would have thought such a creature would find it more comfortable to bed down in a softer, more secluded place.

“Mhm,” he continues, wet lips twisting into a frown. “Tell me, did you know I was here when you decided to spread blood through my home?”

“Of course not.” Hubert responds easily with the truth. “I wasn’t seeking to bother you.”

“Would you if I had not been here at the time, and you knew that?” Ferdinand’s eyes are bright, almost as sharp as his teeth, and Hubert thinks that he has no choice but to continue being honest.

“Probably, yes. The pool is a convenient stopping place on my way home.” Ferdinand chews thoughtfully and Hubert recognizes the furrow in his brow. The significantly human feeling of wanting to start of fight but having to grasp for a suitable wrong to begin with. Hubert feels as if he should help him. “I would not have lost my razor if you had not attacked me.”

It works fantastically. Ferdinand drops his hands, his half eaten lamb dipping in the water. Fish gather around his chest to peck at it. He ignores them in favor of pouting at Hubert. “That was merely a warning. If I had truly wanted to attack you, you would have died rather quickly,” the merman huffs. It’s rare for Hubert’s imagination to make him nervous but seeing how Ferdinand’s claws dig into the lamb as if butter, the bone jagged and chewed through…

“I don’t doubt it,” he says. And then, because he simply can’t resist pushing his luck: “I suppose I should be very grateful that you decided to stop only at humiliation then?”

“You are only here for the razor?” Ferdinand asks. Hubert doesn’t know why he’s surprised the merman didn’t respond to his teasing.

“Excuse me?” he asks. Ferdinand pushes closer, within arms reach, and Hubert, to his own shock, wonders how soft his hair is.

“Your razor, you only want that? I have never…” the merman pauses, irritated and confused.

“Yes. I want my razor. I wouldn’t have tried to bribe you otherwise.” He feels like he’s disappointed Ferdinand. He wonders why that’s so uncomfortable.

“Hm,” the merman hums. “I have never met anyone who did not think talking to me was prize enough.”

“Why would you think I want to talk to you?” Hubert says, too quick, and he instantly knows that was the wrong thing to say. Ferdinand flinches and Hubert’s heart aches when he glances at him, more hurt than he expected. Suddenly, he drops the rest of his lamb beneath the water, and the cluster of fish follow it all the way to the bottom as Ferdinand turns and pushes towards the center of the pool, towards his nest, with an effortless sway of his tail.

“Then I shall not return it,” he says.

“Why not?” Hubert asks. Ferdinand pulls himself onto the base of the statue, coins clattering beneath his weight. Goddess, Hubert thinks, he looks like he belongs there, and it infuriates him that he is so drawn to something so intent against heeding him. Ferdinand stretches out and plucks said razor from between the statues’ feet, rolling the wooden handle between his claws.

“Because I am not convinced you want it bad enough.”


	2. Chapter 2

He goes to bed that night absolutely furious. ‘I do not think you want it bad enough,’ rings in his ears. Feh, what does that damned fish know? He could just say that Ferdinand was right; the razor wasn’t worth the time and effort it apparently required to convince the merman it was worth it to indulge him in one _little_ thing. Certainly, the merman lacked a sense of goodwill.

But no sooner does he manage to get himself worked up over the unfairness of it all, he remembers the quiet, hurt look Ferdinand gave him when he’d stupidly blurted out that he wasn’t interested in knowing him. That was mostly the merman’s own fault, Hubert tells himself. What use was it getting upset when a stranger isn’t interested in making friends? However, the voice in the back of his mind speaks up just behind that thought every time he circles around it. No wonder he won’t give him back his razor if he’s only giving him a reason not to.

Oh, how stupid Hubert feels when he finally more or less settles on the fact that it’s worth it more to him to keep indulging Ferdinand in his game of keep away for now. Lest he suffer that hurt look, and the pricking discomfort it gives him between the ribs remembering it. He’ll no doubt start _noticing_ Ferdinand around the city now that’s he’s talked to him and Goddess, he knows that every time he sees that pretty orange tail it’ll piss him off. Because as long as Ferdinand still has his razor, Ferdinand is winning and he absolutely cannot bear to let the merman have something over him. Making the merman happy would lead to him handing that razor back, and more importantly, admitting defeat.

What was it that Edelgard had told that merchant about him the other day? That he got along well with the opera company. Considering he also apparently nested in front of the building, it made sense. Well then, that sounded like a plan. He’d visit them tomorrow and see if they had any advice for how to make large fish behave.

***

He makes his way to the opera house late the next morning during a break in his duties. It’s somewhat crowded, the square filled with people going about their own business. Yet, when he slips into the opera house, it’s quiet, the heavy wooden door shutting out the noise from outside. He looks around the empty lobby. High ceiling, thick velvet curtains dimming the large room and dampening the sound of his heels on the highly polished tile floors as he approaches the front desk. He doesn’t see anyone for a couple of minutes, and he’s just about to call out for someone when a side door creaks open, a familiar feminine voice cursing under her breath.

“I didn’t realize the company made their songstresses do the heavy lifting, Dorothea,” he muses as he watches her bump the door further open with her hip. Her arms are overflowing with a mess of silks and ruffles. It could be one costume, it could be six. Hubert thinks he can never tell with these people.

“Oh, shove it, Hubie,” she says. She’s not at all surprised to see him, despite how rarely he graces these halls. “Unless you plan to help me move these to the dressing rooms across the hall.”

“I have other business to attend to,” he says. She rolls her eyes and hefts the pile of fabrics onto the front desk. Hubert can’t help but glance at the plunging neckline on the blue piece that flops out at him.

“Of course you do,” she says, resting her elbows on the desk and leaning towards him. “Can _I_ help _you_ with it or do you just require somewhere to loom ominously?”

“What do you feed Ferdinand?” he asks. Dorothea’s eyebrows lift, green eyes wide in surprise.

“You better not be feeding him _anything_ , I know you,” she says, pinning him with a firm glare. “Not that would take anything from _you_ anyways. He’s terribly picky. He’ll barely take treats from me, and,” she smiles coyly. “I’m his favorite.” Hubert thinks it wise to keep the leg of lamb to himself then, but he turns that fact over in his head. So what did it mean that Ferdinand already apparently trusted him enough to take food from him? Perhaps nothing. Perhaps he had just been feeling curious, or too lazy in the moment to feed himself.

“Why?” Dorothea presses. “Hubie, what business do you have with my pretty friend?” Then, when Hubert grimaces and hesitates a moment too long. “If you want revenge on him for some reason so help you-”

“ _No,_ ” Hubert sighs. Ugh, admitting this was such a pain, and now it feels like he must share it with everyone. “I’m not angry with him. I just- I need to make a trade with him.” Dorothea gives him a warning look.

“Absolutely no scheming with my Ferdie,” she says.

“I’m not scheming-”

“He’s very innocent! And… he draws good crowds. Nothing bad is allowed to happen to our good luck charm, okay?” she adds, finger up as if to scold him. “Anyone who hurts him is going to get hell from me.” Somehow, Hubert didn’t doubt that at all.

“I’m not going to hurt him, okay?” he bites out. “I dropped my razor. In the pond. And now Ferdinand has decided that it would be great fun to keep it from me. I need to know how to make him give it back.” Dorothea grins, and it becomes almost predatory in her mirth the more he speaks. “And before you get too excited, Edelgard already knows. She thinks it’s hilarious, no doubt just like you.” She chuckles.

“Mm, I have an idea but you have to do a couple things for me,” she says.

“And what would that be?” Hubert asks, flat. Nothing came cheaply these days.

“Buy some tickets for the show this weekend,” she says. She smooths her hand over the blue dress. “I’ll be wearing this.” Hubert flushes slightly, but pretends that he’s not. Her comment isn’t intended for him and he’s isn’t particularly interested in Dorothea anyways. Hell, he’d had a _much_ stronger reaction to Ferdinand and-

And…

He chooses not to think on that too deeply.

“Let me guess, you want me to bring Edelgard with me?” he asks. Dorothea just purrs as he opens his coin purse.

“Your money is nice but getting Edelgard to come visit me is worth much more,” she says. Hubert is quiet, calculating what needs to be done to free up an opera night in just a few days’ time. Dorothea counts out his coins and passes him back two tickets, one conspicuously signed with a little heart.

“Buy him something pretty,” she says. Hubert lifts a brow. “He wears most of what I give him. I’m sure you’ve noticed.” She waves dismissively, as if he were going to ask. “Gifts from hopeless suitors, but Ferdie likes to feel cute.”

“Thanks. Of course he would have expensive tastes.”

“And don’t _tell_ him to do anything. He’s more stubborn than a bull. He’ll keep that ghastly razor of yours just because he thinks you’re trying to control him.”

Hubert takes a deep, tired breath as he tucks the tickets into his breast pocket. “I think I’m starting to see why you’re his favorite.” Dorothea hums knowingly.

“Well, we understand each other,” she says waving him goodbye as he starts towards the door. “Good luck~”

***

Leaving the opera house, Hubert cuts directly across the square towards the open markets on the west side of the city. He still isn’t entirely sure how he’s going to act on Dorothea’s advice. He’s certainly not going to the nicer shops and spending anything more than pocket change on Ferdinand. But he has perhaps an hour to burn before the palace starts to miss him so he might as well poke around and see if he can come up with a half decent idea. It’s still crowded, but that’s just as well. Most of the middle class can’t recognize him on sight, so he’s just another window shopper as he makes his way down the broad street.

Stalls line both sides, broken up in regular intervals by the bridges that span the canal running down the center. Two more rows of stalls on the other side, a mess of brightly colored awnings. Some smell of bread or fruit. Some piled high with colorful spices, bolts of cloth. Someone is selling a small collection of twittering birds fine wire cages. Further down a stall glitters with metal, protected by a burly man perched in a stool, his long legs strategically holding up the traffic a little. Hubert nears, slows and steps out of the flow of people when he sees the glass covered trays of jewelry. There’s an older man running it, and when he goes to stand from his stool to help him, Hubert waves.

“I’m still just trying to get an idea, sorry,” Hubert says. When was the last time he bought a piece of jewelry? Had he ever? Yes, perhaps once, years ago. But he’d just cursed it and sent it off in the post to a woman getting a little too excited about Edelgard’s misfortunes. It had been easy, because he had only to ensure that she received it. But he has to _impress_ Ferdinand with this. Or at least convince him of his good will with it, and that feels… daunting.

“Oh? Special occasion?” The shopkeeper asks. He motions to a tray of rings. Gold and silver and set with a rainbow’s worth of stone. “I’ve got quite a few wedding bands here. My son has quite an eye for detail, if I say so myself.” The burly guard, apparently the man’s son, gives a brusque wave. Oh Goddess no he doesn’t need a _wedding_ band! He tries to hide the emotion from his face, but this is a man who’s made a career of reading his customer’s unspoken thoughts. He nudges them away.

“Not… that kind of occasion, unfortunately,” Hubert wants to kick himself. “I would be buying for an acquaintance,” he adds.

“And?” the man prods gently. What does he say? Ferdinand is not a friend. He’s a _fish._ Hubert has little idea of what he would actually like, and he very much doubts Ferdinand would know any better even if he did somehow find reason to actually ask him for his opinion. He just got whatever hopefuls gave Dorothea, whatever wound up discarded in the canals. What should he care, really, what Hubert offers him? He thinks he should just pick something cheap at random, but somehow he can’t get his mouth to convey that fact to this old shopkeeper and his detail oriented bear of a son.

“I’m trying to smooth over a… small misunderstanding,” Hubert mutters. The old man laughs low as if he’s joining in on some conspiracy. As if it were something more weighty than Hubert’s own awkward stupidity. “I just would like to give them something small to show them that I intend to get along with them.” The guard gives an amused huff, pulls his eyes off the crowd for a moment to glance at him.

“I’ve heard that one once or twice.” As much as Hubert would like to bite back that he means exactly that, really, he keeps it to himself. Let him think what he will. It’s not like he’s a regular. His father starts in on his questions.

“Does she wear a lot of jewelry?”

“Yes.”

“Anything you notice a lot of?”

“…Gold? But I don’t believe there’s much reason to it.”

“Fancy, or understated?”

“I don’t think it matters much to hi- uh.. Her. For what it’s worth, I don’t think anything delicate would last very long…”

The old man chuckles. “You picked a wild one then. What color is her hair? Her eyes?”

“A redhead,” he says instantly. He thinks back to speaking with Ferdinand at the pool. Hair spilling over his shoulders as he’d come over the dam, eyes wide catching him at the edge of the pool. Surprise. Irritation. Hurt. “And, I would say a very light brown.” His damned cheeks are too hot for this conversation.

“Then I think she would like this,” the shopkeepers says. He picks up a short, broad length of gold chain, bent so that the links lay almost completely flat. The ends thin out for a small clasp, and in the center sits an oval piece of onyx secured into a simple gold backing. A choker. He thinks of Ferdinand wearing such a thing, dark stone held against his throat, apart from the other trailing necklaces that hang down over his chest. He imagines putting it on him and oh, he quite likes that. More than he expects.

“Black looks good on redheads,” The son hums appreciatively.

“It certainly does,” the shopkeeper agrees. “But more importantly. I can only imagine she couldn’t help but think of you every time she puts this on, hm?”

Damn.

They got him with that one.

“How much?” Hubert asks, mentally reeling at the fact that he’s been manipulated by a salesman and trying to convince himself it’s not that big a deal at the same time. He tells himself it’s not sold by the jeweler’s logic, but rather the fact that he’s narrowed down the solution of this problem of his in any kind of way. He ends up paying the price of those damned opera tickets all over again. More than he liked, but, Hubert thinks as he’s tucking the box into his breast pocket along with said tickets, he’s paying for their time and advice. It’s not like he’s making a habit of this anyways. Ferdinand doesn’t appreciate this gift and he really will just forget this entire mess even happened.

***

He thinks that it’s certainly hard to forget about this mess when said _mess_ is lounging on the paving stones not far outside of the palace. Ferdinand is perched lengthwise along the edge, his tail waving in a soft, curious arc and shading his back as he watches the traffic pass by. Hubert thinks the best course of action would be to nudge Ferdinand back into the water with his boot. The traffic is also watching him, and if it gets much busier he’ll cause a jam. Instead, as he nears, he gets distracted thinking about how soft and fluffy Ferdinand’s hair looks when it’s mostly dry. He must have pulled himself up not long after Hubert left. Ferdinand notices him as he nears and makes a quiet chirp in the back of his throat. Hubert isn’t exactly sure what it means, but he takes it as a greeting. Ferdinand rests his cheek on crossed arms, relaxed, bracelets glinting sunlight onto the street around his arms.

“What are you doing,” Hubert asks. Goddess, he’s already feeling the people’s stares at his back.

“It is autumn. The water is cold so I am warming myself,” Ferdinand drops his tail with a sound louder than the motion would suggest, and the chain around his tail jingles against his scales. It’s thicker than Hubert originally thought, curving nicely out at his hips, a wall of smooth scales, mostly a soft orange but some ranging from deep red to nearly yellow dotting throughout. Every movement is smooth and powerful. It reminds him of a snake, pure muscle, and he suddenly realizes that Ferdinand wasn’t joking when he said he would have killed him if he wanted to. He could have very well snapped his neck if he’d hit him at the fountain the other night. Ferdinand catches him looking, shivers his broad tail fin and chirps at him again. “Why are you here?” He turns his head and looks up at him and the hopeful look in his eye might have been cute if he weren’t so damned troublesome.

“I’m working.” Ferdinand blanches. “Hush. I have a perfectly normal job. I work in the palace.” He expects Ferdinand to be somewhat interested in that, but instead the merman huffs suddenly, pushes up on his elbows and glares towards the palace.

“I have a complaint then,” he says. Hubert wasn’t aware that the royal palace took personal complaints like a regular business, much less that he would be the one to hear them personally from a merman, of all things. But Ferdinand doesn’t stop long enough to let Hubert tell him he probably wasn’t going to get very far griping to him. “A man in a big blue coat tried to touch me earlier.” Hubert lifts his brows. One of that Faerghus group?

“Oh? You don’t like that?” he asks, filing that detail away for later. For what, he wasn’t sure, because he was still pretty sure he wasn’t going to do anything about it. Maybe so he could just tell Ferdinand he remembered about it later. Ferdinand grumbles, brushes his hair from his face and Hubert thinks he can’t really fault a man for wanting to touch him. It looks so soft and silky despite the fact that Ferdinand is in the water most of the time and... Okay. Hubert wants to pet him. The allure is much stronger now that he stands right beside him and Ferdinand isn’t lurking out of reach in the water.

“Of course not! He did not leave me alone until I hissed at him. And then he and his friends laughed like he thought it was funny.” The merman pouts up at him, as if he’s scandalized to have had to do such a thing. “Tell him not to do it again. I watched him go in there,” Ferdinand puffs, pointing through the gate and into the courtyard.

“Ferdinand, I wasn’t there. I wouldn’t know who to talk to. And I’m not scolding someone on your behalf anyways,” he says. And really, what was the harm? It obviously hadn’t been enough to convince Ferdinand to leave his sunning spot. Even to Hubert, the draw was undeniable and Ferdinand apparently already trusted him enough to eat food he offered him… Hubert kneels at the merman’s side, consciously decides to ignore the squeak of wagon wheels on the road behind him. It wasn’t his problem if anyone saw him stroking Ferdinand’s hair.

“The next time he tries I will not even warn him. I shall bite him immediately,” Ferdinand announces and his lifts his tail again, fanning out his tail fin and shivering it, and his pretty chain, threateningly. He says it just as Hubert has dropped level to him, and he sees a glimpse of those razor sharp teeth behind deceptively plush lips. How could he have ever forgotten Ferdinand crunching through bone like nothing?

Never mind then.

“People wouldn’t try to pet you if you weren’t lying here in the street,” Hubert says. As if he weren’t also just about to try the same. As if he hadn’t just been intimidated into changing his mind. Ferdinand narrows his eyes at him unhappily.

“Where shall I warm myself then? There is a park, but the canals do not run through it. There is only a creek and it is too shallow for me.” He rolls over, teetering on the edge of the canal as he pats himself just below his hips, at the widest part of his tail, with both hands. “I shall damage my scales trying.” Hubert thinks that would be rather unfortunate. The merman’s eyes widen for a moment as if he’s had an idea. “There is not a bit of sand in this entire city. You work in the palace, yes? You should fix that.”

“Mm, perhaps I’ll look into it,” he says mildly. He tracks the motion of Ferdinand’s hands up his body until he crosses them over his broad, muscled chest, carelessly pressing pretty medallions into his tanned skin. Then he forces his eyes up to Ferdinand’s displeased stare, because he doesn’t need anything in particular plaguing him while he’s trying to sleep tonight.

“You _will_ look into it,” Ferdinand repeats. “Consider me very unhappy until you do.” The look in his eye has too much meaning, the same one as some small, insignificant noble trying to negotiate with him.

“Maybe at some point, but I’m a busy man Ferdinand,” he says. Only a desperate man took the first offer. “And I think you might be overestimating how much certain material belongings are worth to me.” The merman pouts. It’s small, but undeniably, he’s pouting. It’s the exact thing that gets under Hubert’s skin, the exact look that sent him to the opera house this morning in the first place. He’s reached for his coin purse entirely too many times today. “May I bribe you into being patient?” Ferdinand perks up at the clatter of coins as Hubert opens it and, poking around, settles on a bronze coin. Ferdinand does not know how much he’s already spent on him today. The box and tickets burn in his pocket against his chest. He refuses to spend much more on him. He offers it between two fingers and Ferdinand deflates a little at the lack of shine to it, but that doesn’t stop him from taking it and tucking it into his palm.

“A short while,” Ferdinand hums. Then he twists, dropping headfirst into the water, his tail snaking in after him with a splash. Hubert stands and as he watches Ferdinand make his way through the clear waters he thinks that, despite his efforts, he’s still left the merman disappointed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am very sorry this took me so long. I have had irl things going on. This is the longest chapter by quite a bit so I hope that makes up for it somewhat. Thank you for reading.

The Faerghan merchants have been modifying one of their carts all day. Honestly, at this point he’s considering kicking them out of the courtyard if it carries on much longer. He’s concluded his duties early this evening; he has to accompany Edelgard to the opera shortly but… That damned hammering is so distracting. Hubert watches them work as he buttons up his shirt. It looks like they’re raising the walls, bowing long, thin pieces of wood into arcs across the top. Like framing for a cover. Perhaps they had bought some art and needed to protect it from wind and rain on the journey home.

Well, it mattered little to him. Right now he just needed cufflinks. He flips open the little chest on his desk that he stores them in, along with his wax, stamp and important letters (as well as a few dark, glass bottles he used for… certain correspondence). The thin, black box containing Ferdinand’s choker is in there as well. Hubert picks a matching pair at random and snaps the lid shut. He’ll figure out how to handle that later. He finishes dressing with a conspicuously clear mind and steps out into the hall, shutting out the sounds of the merchant’s hammering behind him.

Edelgard does her best not to appear too excited about the opera. But she’s already waiting for him in the entryway as he comes down the stairs, both of their cloaks over his arm. He’d helped her do up her hair earlier, an elaborate braid pinned up and now she’s doing her best not to play with it. Her hand keeps lifting to play with a curl near her ear before dropping it again to fidget with her clutch instead. She’s wearing red, as always for the Emperor. But the cut, though modest by most standards, she’s clearly more than conscious of. She keeps nudging the hem around her chest and shoulders. But when he offers her her cloak, she waves it off.

“Perhaps after the show starts,” she says. Then, to spite his knowing look; “The theater usually gets cold after you’re in there awhile.”

“Of course. Ready?” he says easily. He holds out his free arm for her to take as he leads her out into the courtyard. The hammering has stopped, though now it seems someone is heating pitch somewhere. Annoying.

“It’s nice of you to buy us tickets,” Edelgard muses. Her tone is teasing.

“Mn,” he starts. “Blame Dorothea. I believe she has a better sense of when you’re overworking yourself than I do.”

“Of course she does. You can never work too much yourself,” Edelgard teases. They make their way down the main street. It’s a short walk to the opera house and Hubert thinks he can already see the crowd gathering in front of the building. As they near, he sees that many are milling near the doors, as expected, but just as many are gathering around the edges of the pool. He can only guess why. He tries to avoid it, and steer Edelgard towards the front doors of the opera house, but she tugs his arm.

“Come on, I haven’t seen him in awhile. We have plenty of time,” Edelgard says. He can’t resist on a normal day, much less in public. As they make their way towards the fountain, the crowd parts as people recognize Edelgard (and himself, now that he’s with her). He tries to watch the crowd, make sure they keep their distance, but there’s a soft splash from the center of the pool and it’s like Ferdinand might as well have called him out by name.

He’s lounging in his nest, the base of the eagle statue in the pool glittering with a thousand coins. The water ripples and shimmers in the evening sun, orange and reds as if to match the merman’s scales. There are perhaps thirty people gathered around the pool watching him. Some fond and familiar, some with wonder, children reaching over the edges to tap at the water and cooing as if to call over a stray puppy, or throwing coins overhand into the water when their parents spare them one. Ferdinand pays none of them any attention. Hubert wonders if he’s even purposefully ignoring them as he twists his fingers through one of his necklaces, watching the heavy turquoise bauble dangle along the silver chain. Then, as if simply by happenstance, he glances over. The bright, eager smile that suddenly appears feels like a physical touch on his skin it’s so warm and comforting.

When was the last time he’d felt something like _that_?

Ferdinand’s tail shifts, his arms dropping towards the water like he’ll dip in. Hubert imagines, in a fleeting moment, that Ferdinand will approach him, singling him out for his attention in front of so many others that want it. He takes a small step back, flushed. Ferdinand stops, but he’s not looking at Hubert. He’s looking slightly to the right of him, his face shifting towards irritation just as Edelgard’s grip tightens on his arm.

“Ah, I thought he would come over,” a woman says. Hubert doubts he would have recognized her if she hadn’t spoken and revealed her accent. Voronin, the leader of the Faerghan merchants, stands beside Edelgard, looking out at the merman where he’s perched on the very edge of the statue’s base. “They’re whores for attention. It’s in their nature. But look at him!” she says, as if joking as she makes a sweeping gesture towards Ferdinand. “He’s got such a sour pout.”

‘ _It wasn’t so until he saw you,’_ Hubert thinks. ‘ _Why is that?_ ’ Hubert watches Ferdinand as he plays with a handful of coins. Ferdinand is the center of attention now, but he doesn’t seem particularly pleased about it.

“How did you come to know that?” Edelgard asks. He mentally thanks her. For thinking along the same line as himself but wording it more kindly than he ever could.

“I work for Count Rowe. He used to keep a merman on his property until last year. Rowe named him Yuri. I’m a merchant full time now, but before then, I was one of the people in charge of his care. He wasn’t near so sweet as Ferdinand, but he was a cute little thing all the same,” Voronin says. The look on her face betrays that she wants to say more. Hubert doesn’t indulge her right away, mulling over the gap between caretaker and merchant.

“What happened to him?” he asks.

“He escaped. Not under _my_ watch, mind you. I never would have let him loose, because I knew it was coming. I warned Count Rowe that he wasn’t happy where he was, much less being moved around when it was cold but,” she shrugs. “What do I know? Rowe was going to move him to Fhirdiad. A little gift for the king’s birthday and an excuse for tourism, but… crossing the river from lake Teutates, Yuri leaps out of the cart. Rowe tries to stop him going off the side of the bridge.” She lifts her left hand, her pinky and ring fingers curled against her palm. “So Yuri took his wedding ring, and two of of his fingers along with it.” Hubert thinks of the wet crunch of teeth rending flesh and bone. He clenches his hand into a fist and wonders if Ferdinand would ever do the same.

“You never found him?” Edelgard asks. Voronin shakes her head.

“If I had been there we would have. Mers don’t handle the cold all that well. It makes them sluggish. And December at Teutates is far colder than anything would get feel this far south. It’s a shame, but if I had to guess, the ice likely killed him. We’ll never know because on top of that, Lord Lonato seemed to think Rowe got what was coming to him and never allowed us to continue searching into his lands. If he’s still around somewhere, Yuri’s earned his freedom as far as I’m concerned. It means little to me. There are always others.” Hubert narrows his eyes. He opens his mouth to ask her what she means by ‘others’, defensive over something he can’t quite place. But the doors open to the opera house behind them and, as if reading his tension, Edelgardtugs on his arm again. “Oh, well, enjoy your show then,” Voronin says, waving them off as they go.

He keeps to himself until they make their way up to their private box. They have a perfect view of the stage from above, the sounds of the orchestra tuning their instruments reverberating pleasantly off the curtains around them. “She’s going to make an offer on Ferdinand,” he says quietly, setting down two glasses of dark wine on the table between them before he settles into his own chair with a tense sigh.

“That much is obvious,” Edelgard says. She shifts in her own seat, making herself comfortable under her cloak now that she’s more or less out of sight. “I don’t know why she would bother telling us of any credentials she just happens to have with mers unless she was trying to gauge our reaction.”

“We’re going to tell her no.” Hubert says, taking a too large sip of wine.

“Oh of course we are,” Edelgard says, then quieter, as the instruments wind up and the lights dim. “He’s the opera house’s darling and… Dorothea would be really upset if anything happened to him.”

And that should be the end of it. But Hubert sits there, and stews, and feels… what? He feels bad for leaving Ferdinand out there with Voronin watching on. But Ferdinand is an adult, and independent, and quite dangerous if he wants to be. Hubert knows he has nothing to fear. So why is he so _upset_ about this? _If_ she asks, he tells her no. That’s the end of the story. Hells, Ferdinand doesn’t even have to know about it.

Perhaps… he is just overworked, and getting himself too involved with this fish that’s caused him nothing but trouble. Maybe the best thing to do would be to step away and try to get back to his normal routines.

It’s time to just buy a razor.

  
  


***

  
  


The next afternoon Edelgard asks him to have tea with her and Dorothea in the palace gardens. He hadn’t seen them since he’d escorted them both back to the palace after the opera and for the life of him he can’t remember any details about the performance. He remembers the blue dress, because Dorothea had shown it to him beforehand, but as for actual plot, or performances, or hell, even her characters name, he’s totally lost. And he knows, as he glares into the mirror and tests his new razor against the bristles on his jaw, that he’s about to make a royal ass of himself.

It’s an unseasonably hot afternoon. He can feel the warm autumn breeze puffing in through the open windows as he makes his way towards the gardens. The scent of foliage and late blooming flowers wafts over him as he opens the door, steps out onto the path and makes his way around the hedges towards the gazebo.

“Oh, good morning,” Dorothea purrs as she sees him approaching. She sits up straight in her chair as Edelgard looks over her shoulder at him, cheeks flushed lightly. “Strange of you to be the last one to arrive.” Edelgard sips at her tea.

“I was busy,” he says. He takes a seat across from Dorothea and starts to pour himself a cup of coffee from the tall, angled pot sitting beside the shorter, wider teapot. It’s lighter than he expects. Dorothea’s been drinking from it because he knows Edelgard will always pick tea if she has the choice. “That was an excellent show last night.”

“Wasn’t it?” Dorothea grins. “Edie was just telling me all about it.” Edelgard glances at him, and it’s like they’re reading each other’s minds. He knows that she knows that he was paying absolutely no attention.

“Your singing was fantastic, as always,” Hubert says. Start with a mild, obvious complement. Keep it safe, but as he sips at his dark, bitter coffee he doesn’t look Dorothea in the eye. Instead he looks out at the garden behind her. It still looks nice now, before the first freeze. The shrubs and flowers are still thick and green.

“The actor playing your fiance, he was a good match, I think,” Edelgard says. Hubert sifts through his memories for who she could be referring to. The man in blue? What was his name? What even was the color of his hair?

He merely hums, masking his confusion. “Agreed.”

Dorothea grins like a cat across the table. “And what did you think of the finale? We spent weeks perfecting it.” Just as Dorothea’s eyes carry a predatory glint, Edelgard’s are more merciful. The silence is so thick Hubert can hear the soft splash of a fish in the pond beyond the hedges.

_The pond?_

“The swordplay was amazing,” Edelgard says with purpose, bringind him back to his thoughts. Plenty enough to work with.

“Mn, I knew you were well trained by some of that looked dangerous,” he says. He glances to Edelgard for further ‘advice’ but she’s hiding behind a sip of tea.

After a long pause, Edelgard thinking. “There were quite a lot of sparks…” Her eyes have changed and are less easy to read now. Hubert’s brow furrows. _He has to go look at that pond again. He seems to remember…_ However, Dorothea seems delighted.

“Oh yes, that’s what took me so long to meet you after the show last night,” she says, twisting her fingers and pouting guiltily. “I had to go down to the box and apologize to one of the percussionists for singeing him…”

“Truly?” Hubert asks. _There was sand there. He was sure of it! But how much?_

“Certainly. I ruined his jacket.” Dorothea says, motioning as if to a sleeve. Edelgard is flushed again. _As soon as he’s done here, he’ll go and see._ It’s not enough to stop Hubert speaking.

“Surely he takes it as a professional hazard with scenes like those.” He realizes they’ve been embellishing details the instant the words leave his mouth and all his thoughts collapse into the singular, ludicrous image of a stone faced drummer playing on despite a burning sleeve. He sighs deeply. Dorothea giggles and squeezes Edelgard’s wrist with mirthful affection.

“Oh, Edie, it’s so much more fun when you don’t help him,” she laughs. Though she tries not to, Edelgard joins her, even as she gives him an apologetic look. He puts up with a lot, he thinks. But he was certainly asking for it for letting himself get so distracted last night.

“Apologies,” he says, clearing his throat. Dorothea waves it off.

“It’s worth it for the laugh. Besides, I know Edie got to see the show and that’s plenty worth it,” she says.

They continue talking for another half an hour before both girls stand and bid him goodbye. Hubert watches Dorothea lead Edelgard by the arm out through the garden gate for a trip to the market. He’s still thinking of Ferdinand sprawled out on the eagle fountain as he stands and slowly makes his way around the gardens, trying not to look too conspicuous investing his own home with so much interest.

A tightly groomed channel runs along the far wall, fed by the canals outside by a gate built into the garden wall. Hubert walks along it and estimates the channel to be about fifty feet long before it suddenly widens and empties into the pond that dominates the southern corner of the garden. His eyes cut directly to the wide bar of soft sand that’s washed up along the shore. More than he expected, with a sharp line between sand and plush grass that tells of regular maintenance. He’ll have to ask about that when Ferdinand comes.

 _‘If, Hubert’_ he tells himself.

Looking around further he notes there’s a long, thin grate in the garden’s far wall. A drain for when the rains are too heavy and the pond floods. Curious. He’d never given this area much thought before. He hadn’t needed to. His job was Edelgard’s well being. It was the gardeners duty to tend to the gardens. Hubert looks into the dark, deep waters of the pond, watching the sluggish twist of those calico fish just under the surface.

But now it feels like his duty is to show this to Ferdinand. Hubert turns away and makes his way out of the gardens, grumbling. Perhaps it is just because he’s one of those people who find it difficult not to offer a solution to a problem once he’s found one. And besides, he has to show the merman proof that he was listening to his complaints. Razor or no, it was in his nature (and his job description) to solve problems.

Yes. That’s exactly what was going on here. How could he not see it? Dorothea liked Ferdinand, and Edelgard in turn liked Dorothea quite a bit. So making Ferdinand happy would make Dorothea happy which would make Edelgard happy. And that was his job as Minister of the Imperial Household, was it not? He demands the guard open the garden’s canal gate halfway and feels quite good about himself doing so.

  
  


***

  
  


“Lord Vestra!” Voronin waves to him from beside her mangled cart. “I’d like to speak with you for a moment if you can spare the time.”

Hubert pauses, giving a long, tired sigh. He’d made it about ten seconds and wasn’t even out of the courtyard before he’d been stopped again. And by the last person he felt like dealing with right now. As he crosses towards her he watches as two of her men overturn a barrel of water into the cart, groaning in frustration when water streams from a corner. Voronin turns and snaps at them. “I told you you to spread it thicker in the corners! How many days do you want to be doing this?” She turns back to Hubert as he nears. “No matter how I try to warn them, they always have to learn the hard way first.”

“Fantastic. You feel like explaining what in Goddesses’ name you’re doing to your cart?” he asks.

“Ah, well, I was planning on asking you once we finished it but we’re close enough, I think. And I heard you can be quite hard to find. Figured I might as well talk to you while I was looking at you,” she says.

“And?”

“I’d like to make an offer. Eight thousand gold to take Ferdinand back to Fhirdiad with me.” There it is. Hubert knew it was coming and yet, a bright spark of indignation flares in his chest all the same.

“You’ll have to offer more than that,” he says flatly. “I’d think a merman would be quite a bit harder to come across than a horse.”

“An astoundingly well trained one. Ten?” she asks. “I’ve already sunk so much work into his transport.”

“Then it’s a real shame you won’t be ‘transporting’ him then. What made you think he was for sale?” he asks. “You saw him at the opera house last night with us. People like him. I have no reason to allow you to throw him in a cart and move him across the continent.” Voronin’s eyes harden, but she still puts on her merchant’s smile.

“Oh, I’ve made plenty of accommodations for his comfort. He’d be fine,” she says. Like he wouldn’t notice her glossing over all of his other reasons.

“I believe you were telling me just last night that mers don’t take to the cold very well,” Hubert prods back. “Do they even live any further north than Derdriu?”

“No, because then they’re selkies, but that’s beside the point. If I’m to be honest, I think he’ll be more comfortable in Faerghus than he is here.” Hubert narrows his eyes. “The canals are wider, for one. They’re warmer than you’d expect. More than half of the city is fed by hot springs. I know how to make him thrive even if he _doesn’t_ , well, there are plenty of nobles willing to care for him.”

“So he can bite their fingers off?” he snaps back, with a venom that surprises him.

“Yuri lashed out and fled because he was wild and separated from his pod too young. Ferdinand is already on his own and well acclimated to people. We can give him an even better environment than he’s got here. He’s perfect,” she says.

 _‘_ _How does she know that much about Yuri’s past_ _if she were only a caretaker_ _?’_ Hubert’s skin crawls. She talks about Ferdinand like she really is bartering for any other animal. Do these Faerghans really think of him as merely something pretty to trade for?

“Enviornment?” he asks, after a pause.

She laughs, and it feels like she might as well have spit at him. “You really think it’s natural for him to make a nest on a hard statue in the middle of a public square? Forgive me, but you Adrestians are so clueless it’s painful. You people shower him in pretty baubles and yet neglect to even provide him with a proper place to sleep. It’s so backwards it’s disgusting.”

“Now hold on,” Hubert huffs indignantly. He was on his way to fix that very thing when she interrupted him! How is he supposed to solve problems he’s only recently become aware of, and how does that give this stranger any right to lecture him. “Ferdinand has brought this very thing to my attention and I’m in the process of righting it. He’ll have a proper nest soon enough.”

“Where?” she says. She doesn’t and never has, sounded angry. But there’s something calculating in her eyes and in her voice that puts him on edge. No, he can’t tell her.

“Private property,” he says.

“Then you’re lying.” Hubert feels himself flush, his heart thudding hard with anger. “Twelve, and I put him out his misery.”

_‘_ _Twelve?!_ _Out of his misery?!’_

“You can goto the fucking shore and pick out any mer you wish. Pick out an entire rainbow’s worth if you think you can get away with it. But I would suggest being extremely careful how you handle the subject of Ferdinand with me in the future because it costs me absolutely nothing to have the guard escort you and your ugly cart out of the city,” he growls. Voronin lifts her hands, palms out, in surrender.

“Apologies. I hadn’t intended to argue with you,” she says. “Of course, I should have taken ‘No,’ as your answer with more grace. I had simply had my heart set on Ferdinand.” Hubert is well and truly angry now. Much more than he’d expected. He knew perfectly well that she would be making an offer on Ferdinand. And he didn’t even care about Ferdinand that much, did he? But he still had more honor than to sell him away for an easy profit.

“Set your heart on another then. Ferdinand stays in Enbarr,” Hubert snaps. At that, Voronin’s eyes flash with anger, but Hubert doesn’t even stick around long enough to let her pretend to tell him goodbye properly. He turns the opposite way and stalks back into the palace. He needs to calm down and get something off his desk. Then he has to find Ferdinand.

  
  


***

  
  


More than an hour of walking the canals later and Hubert has cooled off to a point that he’s close to giving up on the merman. Tell him about the sand the next time they inevitably run into each other. He’s making his way along the western edge of the city where the canals are wide and slow moving as the water flows out of the city, into the river, and on to the sea some fifty miles out. If Ferdinand came from a pod in the sea, then he must have entered the city through here.

He wondered why.

He fingers the slim black box in his breast pocket. He felt a bit foolish now carrying it around with him, but right now its importance as a bartering chip is greater than ever. He needs to show Ferdinand the gardens and to get him to come to the gardens, Ferdinand has to trust him. He hopes a gift will put him in the right direction.

Of course, it’s all moot if he can’t find that damned merman to begin with…

A deep, loud splash, bigger than any reasonably sized fish in the canals. Hubert glances over the side of the canal and sure enough Ferdinand is stalking him just beneath the surface, nothing but his head above the water. His hair trails in flowing waves halfway down his back and his tail beats slow behind him. His tail fin breaches the water on an upswing, creating another loud splash. Hubert can only watch him in silence for several seconds. There’s no way he passed such a bright, beautiful creature without noticing him.

Hubert clears his throat, pulls his hand from his breast pocket, and tries to act like he wasn’t staring. “Oh? And where did you appear from?” He asks. Ferdinand stutters. Makes a soft, trilling sound barely heard over the water.

“I was sleeping,” Ferdinand says. He pouts. “I wanted to find you after you left the opera house but…” as he talks, Hubert comes across one of the staircases that leads towards the water. They serve as access for maintenance and escape routes for people or animals that fall in. But now, it allows him to step down right to the edge of the water. Ferdinand approaches him with a firm swing of his tail, though he still lingers just out of reach.

“But?” Hubert asks. He tests the steps with his boot. They’re dry so he sits.

“The lady you were talking to before wouldn’t leave and,” he wilts for a moment, but then that familiar indignant pout returns. “I have another complaint! No! It is the same complaint, but I am giving it to you again because you have not _fixed it.”_

“You’d be surprised,” Hubert says mildly, though once again his heart is starting to beat harder. Ferdinand would not have mentioned Voronin not leaving unless her presence bothered him. “What happened?”

“Those men in the blue coats! They kept showing up all night,” Ferdinand grumbles, floating lazily just beneath the steps. “I just had to give up sleeping in my nest and hiding here.” He swings his arm down into the water beneath himself. “It is deep here. They cannot see me when I sleep.” More grumbling. “Though I have to keep waking up to breathe…”

“I’m sorry,” Hubert says. Ferdinand huffs, blinks slowly in a way that Hubert can see how truly tired he is. “She talked to me about you before I came over here. She…” he stops then, stares into Ferdinand’s wide, curious eyes. He’s already so stressed out just by being followed Hubert wanders if it’s wise to tell him Voronin intended to _buy_ him and ship him off to the other side of the continent. No. Because if he tells him he may leave Enbarr altogether and then Hubert can do nothing for him. He’ll keep that to himself. He’s already handled it anyways. He’s told her no, so their scouting should stop on its own. “She says you’re very pretty. But I’ve told her already to make sure her men leave you alone. She knows you don’t like it now,” he says. The lie slips so easily from his mouth he feels a little guilty when Ferdinand visibly relaxes.

Hubert leans forward to rest his arms on his knees, his fingers once again pushing into his breast pockets He lets out a nervous breath. “I have a couple of things for you, also.” He pulls out the box and Ferdinand purrs. A flick of his tail and he’s suddenly hauling himself onto the steps beside Hubert. He’s tanned, besides Hubert’s own paleness, and his skin shines wet, so soft and lightly freckled. Ferdinand is suddenly close enough that Hubert can feel the warmth coming off him, smell the fresh water in his hair, see the bright smattering of stray scales about his hips where his skin transitions to his tail, smooth and powerful and glittering under sun and drops of water.

Hubert clears his throat and tries to breathe around the lump of his heart in his throat. His damn fingers are shaking around the box as Ferdinand presses into his space. For a moment Hubert thinks Ferdinand will go so far as to rest on him. But not quite. It’s not him he’s interested in after all. It’s the gift.

‘ _And why_ _should_ _that sting?’_ He chastises himself.

He opens the box, silently thankful that his hands don’t shake so bad it rattles. Ferdinand leans in when he sees the gleam of gold with a soft chirp. Goddess, he can feel the water in Ferdinand’s hair soaking into his sleeve. “I uh..” he’s so distracted! “Wanted to give this to you.”

“Oh!” Ferdinand purrs. “It’s beautiful!” He gently plucks it from the box and stretches out on his back, twisting it back and forth in his hands as he admires how it shimmers in the sunlight. Hubert thinks the gold and onyx look nice against his skin. “Who gave it to you?”

“Hm? Nobody,” Hubert says. Ferdinand tips his head like he doesn’t understand. “I bought it.”

“Then why give it to me?” Ferdinand asks. “Dorothea only ever gives me things she doesn’t want from nobles.”

“I _am_ a noble, Ferdinand. I can afford it,” he says. What did a merman care about money? For him it was merely decoration. Ferdinand twists the choker, pulls it, his mouth turning into… something hurt.

“They buy things for Dorothea because they want things from her that they cannot simply ask for,” a sharp look at Hubert, and he sets the choker down on the step beside him. Gently, like he doesn’t want to scratch it despite how much the meaning of it hurts him. “Or that they know she will no want to give.”

_Oh._

“That’s not-” Ferdinand pushes off the stairs and slips quietly back into the dark waters. “ _Ferdinand._ ”

“What do you want from me?” Ferdinand growls softly, his look firm and full of distrust. Of course Ferdinand would have the wrong impression of what buying someone a gift meant if Dorothea was venting her frustrations to him. And of _choker_ of all things. What as wrong with him?

“I want you to trust me,” Hubert says, calm despite the ache in his chest. “I found you the sand you asked for.” Ferdinand chirrs despite himself. “There’s a pond in the palace gardens that was gated off, but I had them open it this morning. I wanted you to follow me so I could show it to you.” Ferdinand is quiet for a long, long moment. He stares Hubert in the eye, and despite his own discomfort Hubert meets them. He’s far out of his depth, trying to get someone to trust him. It had never mattered to him until now, what other people thought of him, how much they trusted him, but now he cares so much about exactly that with Ferdinand, of all people, that it almost hurts. Ferdinand turns his eyes down, stares into the water.

“No.” he finally huffs, despondent.

“ _Why?_ You told me you couldn’t sleep, so why not rest there? _”_ Hubert asks, exasperated. How much did he have to do to get this merman to do _anything_? Instantly, he knows his tone is too frustrated and strained to do him any good. Ferdinand glances at him sideways. He edges away.

“Those people in the blue coats have been following me all night! I do not know what they want from me either. I do not want to follow anyone, anywhere.” That was fair. That was fine, Hubert tells himself. He’d clearly found Ferdinand at a bad time and through his own careless hopes he wasn’t making this any better for himself. He can’t be the one to force Ferdinand into anything.

“I have made it very clear to them to leave you alone,” he says firmly, still wanting so badly for the merman to trust him, just a little more. Ferdinand beats his tail against the current and he wanders if he had splashed the Faerghans like he had Hubert. Had they given him an excuse? Had it even worked?

“I do no know that! What if you mean to trap me there? What if the people following me are working with you! I like you Hubert, but I do not trust you.”

“How can I prove to you that I mean well?” he asks. Some stupid, hopeful part of him gets hung up on Ferdinand admitting that he liked him. No one _liked_ him. No one said it so plainly. He feels warm, and so deeply lonely at the same time. He wonders if this is what those lovesick heroes in Dorothea’s operas were supposed to feel like.

He supposed they did.

He wants so badly to touch him, and tell him how much he likes him back.

“Make the people in the blue coats go away,” Ferdinand’s growl cuts past his thoughts. He dives. In a moment, Ferdinand is out of sight, gone like he was never there. Hubert plucks up the choker and sets it back in the box with an aching heart and number fingers before stalking back up the steps. He would most certainly get rid of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is so hard to shoehorn in personal hcs into a plot without making it feel like shoehorning. 
> 
> Some notes: 
> 
> \- Mers have lungs, and no gills. But they can hold their breath for more than an hour like a lot of other marine species.   
> \- Mers most often live in the sea in groups called 'pods' but they will also live in rivers either in smaller groups or alone.   
> \- Merdie is fine by himself, he's just very chatty with Dorothea (and Hubert).   
> \- Derdriu is famous for their mers. Lorenz has made quite a name for himself.   
> \- Sylvain is a selkie. Exactly like mers except with a fluffy seal tail.   
> \- Of course, Yuri is too scrappy to ever die. He is in Garreg Mach being ~mysterious~.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hadn't intended to take THIS long to get this posted. I've had some goings on in my life and I've been lacking the willpower to put the time into this. There was a lot of struggling going on with these last two chapters, but hopefully posting them both together makes them worth the wait. :D
> 
> Also huge thanks to [@jojolightningfingers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoJolightningfingers/pseuds/JoJolightningfingers/works) for betaing these chapters and solving my fish puzzle! I never would have been satisfied with this fic if you hadn't reminded me that people can lie.

As much as he wanted to sweep into the courtyard and eject the Faeghans all in a huff, he knows it’s merely a bout of wishful, immature thinking. His encounter with Ferdinand had wounded him more deeply than he’d like to admit, left him feeling impotent in a way that was unfamiliar. He needed to fix this, and he knew how he should go about that, but he also knew that it still might not be enough. Voronin would go, quickly. He would place protections for the sea mers, make sure Voronin didn’t simply go to the shore to find a replacement for Ferdinand. He would find Ferdinand a suitable nest even if he had to remodel the park around his needs because his own idiocy had degraded the mer’s trust him in so severely he refused to consider the gardens. But…

Deep breath. One thing at a time.

He passes through the palace gate and into the courtyard already working his demands over his tongue. However, he’s cut short when he realizes the Faerghans seem to be already packing up. As he approaches he watches three of Voronin’s men are wrestling a massive crate into their cart, cursing as the corner catches on one of the new arched supports and jolts them hard enough for one to drop the end into the cart with a hollow crash.

“Easy!” Voronin calls. She grips a broom tight, jabs it at the man in the cart nursing his bruised fingers. Goddess, she’s even going so far as to tidy up the stones as they go.

“You’re leaving,” Hubert says. Voronin glances his way, smiles.

“von Vestra,” she says, tipping her head in greeting. “Indeed we are. Sorry to take the wind out of your sails.” Damn, she must have heard his disappointment that she got ahead of him kicking them out.

“What?”

“Well, after how things went earlier, I guessed I’d worn my welcome rather thin.” Before he can respond; “You were coming to see me out, yes?” There’s something in the way that the warmth in her posture, in her smile, doesn’t quite match up to her flinty eyes that sets him on edge. He wonders if Ferdinand’s avoidance of the Faerghans goes deeper than simply disliking the attention. He’s seen Voronin’s mask too. Hubert sets his jaw, straightenes a little firmer.

“Shall I thank you for saving me the trouble?”

Her eyes flash. That harder core pressing tight to the personable veneer. The look of a person reminding themselves they’re in polite company, that they’re at work. The crate scrapes around in the cart as the men shove it neatly into a corner with their hips.

“We’ll be out of the city within a day or so,” Voronin says, meeting his eyes once again, her accent coming through more distinctly until she clears her throat. “As soon as a couple of final deals go through. Until them we’ll move out of the courtyard, and out of your way. Fair?”

Hubert fights back the urge to roll his eyes, as if he cares what any of her business is outside of her harassing Ferdinand. As if he won’t have someone report exactly where she sets up shop. “Completely,” he bows slightly. “Have a good day. If you have need of anything, the staff here are more than willing to help.”

“Good day then, von Vestra,” Voronin hums. Hubert turns and makes his way into the palace. The first of his personal staff he happens across, a man named Haas, gets the order to tell him where Voronin’s cart winds up, as well as instructions to the guards at every gate to report back to him if and when they leave the city.

He cannot cross Voronin leaving the city off of his to do list yet. He’d have to be mad to believe that she would leave so punctually, or so easily. But for now there is frustratingly little he can actually do about it. She hasn’t actually _done_ anything besides offer to buy Ferdinand, and thus doesn’t have a solid enough reason to see her out of the city with a full escort. Impotent indeed. So then… he thinks to himself, picking his way through the palace’s halls towards his suite.

“What next?” a voice finishes his thought. He glances up, pulled from this thoughts by Edelgard coming the opposite direction. She’s caught a bit of sun during her day out with Dorothea, her hair slightly windblown and fluffy. “You look like you’re thinking awfully hard.”

“My Lady,” had they only had tea this morning? So much in only a single day. “Merely thinking of work I have to do before tomorrow.” Edelgard sighs audibly, something she would never do if she were working, or if they were not alone.

“I thought we had both agreed to take the day off.”

“I did, for the most part,” Hubert says. Seeking out Ferdinand and gifting him jewelry certainly counted as a personal indulgence. The company of such warmth and beauty, and the ache of knowing he’d hurt that with his own stupidity really wasn’t anything he had officially penciled in for himself. “It’s no work that I’ve not made for myself,” he says. She tips her head, already suspicious to the novelty by the fact that he even admitted to it.

“Is it anything I can help you with?” she asks. A long pause, Hubert balancing scales with his thoughts.

“You don’t have to. It would be wrong of me to insist you end your day off with my work.” Edelgard chuckles as she closes the distance between them. She fits her arm within his and turns him around, towards her suite instead of his own.

“That’s about as close to ‘Yes, please,’ you can ever get. You can repay me by detangling my hair before I ruin it trying to do so myself.”

“So,” Edelgard starts. She’s made herself comfortable at her vanity, fidgeting with one of the ribbons she’s pulled out of her hair. Hubert takes his familiar place behind her seat, brush in hand as he gently takes one sectioned piece of white hair in the other. “Are you alright? You looked troubled earlier.”

Hubert is quiet for a long time. Long enough that Edelgard glances at him in the mirror. He ignores her, pondering his own situation for several strokes of the brush. She could help him, certainly, with another thing on his list. Setting protections for the mers along the Adrestian coast. But to ask for that would be to admit just how deeply invested he’s let himself get with Ferdinand. But he knows how well him sending orders to the coast will go. They will do it, and well, out of fear of disappointing him. If Edelgard proposes the same thing, the men will no doubt volunteer for the post for a ‘change of pace’ and a small fascination for the Emperor's new interest.

“Is it about Ferdinand,” Edelgard pries. His momentary stutter, the stiff way he moves on to the next section of her hair gives him away instantly.

“I, ah, spoke to him today,” Hubert starts. Edelgard’s eyebrows lift, but on the whole, Hubert can’t sense any surprise in her. He wonders how it came to be that she seemed to be so familiar with his feelings-- No, interest, in Ferdinand despite him doing his best to keep all things mer strictly a personal matter. “Seems that he’s rather stressed out about the Faerghans.”

“Oh? Someone gave me a notice that they were leaving early for some reason,” her eyes finish her thought for her. ‘ _Do you happen to know why?_ ’ “I’m sure I don’t have to warn you again about being so… brusque with our staff and our _guests_.”

“Of course not,” Hubert huffs, brow furrowing slightly as he pretends to focus on brushing out Edelgard’s hair. “Well, their leader approached me earlier today and made an offer to purchase Ferdinand,” despite his irritation even remembering the encounter, he eases the brush through a tangle in Edelgard’s hair. “I’m afraid I turned her down more harshly than I’d intended.”

“I didn’t realize you cared about him so much,” Edelgard teases gently. She’s lying, and Hubert has to pretend he doesn’t feel the warmth on his cheeks.

“Dorothea would have been upset if he turned up missing,” he insists. Yet Edelgard refuses to let him dodge her so easily.

“Since when have you had any particular care for how Dorothea feels?” she asks.

“Since… well… you’re close, and Dorothea is the type to hold me responsible for her friends,” he says. He watches Edelgard’s mouth twitch into a small smile in the mirror. “But that’s beside the point. I did something a bit shameful when I was turning her offer down. I told her she could go to the coast and get a wild mer instead. Now I regret that.” Ferdinand had been so stressed and tired simply from being followed. To subject another in his place through his own thoughtless arguments and neglect was cruel even for someone like him. “I realize now that isn’t a solution.”

Edelgard, bless her, knows exactly what he’s asking for without him actually having to vocalize it. “Well, if the Faerghans decide to head to the coast, we’ll need some security there to stop them. I’ll have a job posting up come morning. I’m sure I’ll have plenty of people interested in a post near the beach.”

“At least before it gets too cold,” Hubert remarks. Edelgard laughs. He relaxes, fully confident in Edelgard’s promise to handle it for now, though no doubt he’ll follow up and propose his own, more detailed, changes later. The conversation moves on to Edelgard’s day, their plans for tomorrow and, when Edelgard tries to return the subject to Ferdinand, Hubert dodges expertly enough that he can wrangle her hair into a loose braid (while privately wondering if Ferdinand would ever allow the same) and bids her good night.

  
  


***

  
  


For the first time in living memory, Hubert finds that his work gets in the way of what he really wants to do. The first time that his work and his desires weren’t one and the same. What’s _wrong_ with him? What has Ferdinand done to him? He has a staff meeting first thing the next morning, and if he hadn’t so fastidiously kept notes he would have absolutely no idea what he had intended to discuss with any of these people. He still hasn’t gotten an update on where Voronin parked her cart, or if they’d left town yet, and the nagging worry over that keeps sneaking to the forefront of his mind, ahead of what he should actually be focused on.

He keeps referring to said notes, furious when he can tell his staff _know_ he’s distracted through fidgeting hands and shared glances between each other. And still, it isn’t enough to get the merman out of his thoughts. The choker is once again stored away in his desk, late in the night, though he’d seriously considered just tossing the thing. The shift of Ferdinand’s surprise and joy to the realization that he thought it came with a _price_. It still _stung_. Hubert should have just moved on with his life as he intended in the beginning. But he was too far in now. He would clean up this mess and take the heartache as a lesson well learned.

That afternoon, a knock pulls him from his thoughts. He’s ponderously working through the details for a post on the southern shores protecting the wild mer population. All morning he’d been expecting a report back on Voronin’s whereabouts and he’d thought making himself useful by working on this job posting would soothe his nerves, but it seems to have backfired on him. Ferdinand is still swimming around in his thoughts and he’s just on the cusp of giving up on waiting and going to find the merman himself, lure him into the safety of the gardens come hell or high water.

That said, the knock serves as a welcome distraction. “Come in,” he calls, putting aside his notes with a bit too much care. He glances up to find Haas, his man he’d left his instructions with, creeping into his office. He comes to a stop well in front of Hubert’s desk, clearing his throat.

Hubert finds himself grinding his teeth. The man is fidgeting in a way he isn’t accustomed to and it instantly puts him even more on edge than he already was.

“I have news of the Faerghans, sir,” he says.

“Wonderful,” Hubert replies. He sits up in his chair, stares down Haas a moment too long. He shifts his weight from foot to foot. “Did it take her almost the entire day to pack up and leave? She seemed as if they were nearly done when I spoke to her last.” A pause, and his man is already struggling. He knows now that Haas has never before decieved him, which makes the betrayal now ache all the more. Damn, he’ll have to review _all_ of his staff after this. But Edelgard had warned him about raking their staff over the coals. The small voice of Edelgard that permanently resides in his mind suggests that Haas possibly put off reporting back to him for this exact bitterness. Hubert tries to school his expression into something less irritable, but he’s unable to tell how successfully he manages it. “Where did they stop?”

Haas doesn’t answer right away. He glances up and to the left, his fingers knitting in front of his stomach. A beat, and the dead air hangs heavy. “She took her time settling into a spot, but she finally decided to keep her cart by the big tavern by the opera house. Said she liked the drinks there when they arrived.”

Hubert knows exactly what place Haas speaks of, and red flags start to wave. Not because Hubert feels that he’s outright lying to him, but because he _knows_ that he’s telling him the truth. Hubert had just happened to see the Faerghans on their first night in Enbarr. Waiting on the upper floor with spiked coffee as he watched the blue coated merchants raucously make their way towards the bar. The more important question is why, or how, Haas would also come to know that.

Yet Hubert still merely lifts his brows for a moment, feigning that he has little issue with Haas’ explanation. Partly to heed Edelgard’s warning, but moreso now because he wants to see how much he can get out of the man without sending him running directly back to Voronin with a warning.

_How much had she paid for such a thing?_

“Out of curiosity, why did she not know where she wanted to keep her cart? I didn’t realize she would have so much trouble with that.” He’s careful not to give Haas any grabbing points, but also mindful of that mental Emporer not to grill him so hotly that he tells him nothing.

Haas’ mouth drops open slightly, and again his eyes roll up as he thinks. The silence drags on longer; he’s stumbled him. “I-I’m not quite sure what the problem was, exactly,” Haas begins. “As I followed them I wasn’t close enough to tell what was happening every time they stopped. It was quite dark by that point… Perhaps it had something to do with the lateness?”

Okay, so they made multiple stops late last night. Why? They were up to something that they wouldn’t have wanted people to see them doing, otherwise why do it under the cover of night? And why multiple stops? He has a strong feeling that Haas does know, but to accuse him of such outright is too dangerous to his investigation.

“Give me a couple of examples. Where did they stop?” He wants desperately to know more. Where _all_ did they stop? How long where they there? What exactly were they doing, because Hubert very much doubted that Voronin had any actual issues finding a space for her cart. One thing Enbarr was always accommodating towards was merchants.

“The tavern, of course, but also they stopped at the market bridge, and the opera house,” Haas says. There’s a paleness in his face and Hubert finds himself rather surprised by how much this hurts him. Haas is such a _terrible_ liar. The opera house, specifically, worries him as much as it offers more proof for his theory. The opera house didn’t sell anything but little souvenirs related to their shows and, as far as Hubert could tell, they had little interest in any of their goods. What they _did_ have interest in, however, was the nest of coins in the fountain, in the canal running beneath the market bridge.

Haas isn’t telling him the truth, but Hubert is rather confident that he’s telling him enough of the truth for him to work off a his hunch.

“Fair enough,” Hubert hums, he picks up his pen and writes out ‘opera house’ and begins a list of possible suspects to check out. “Thank you for your help. That will be all,” Haas visibly relaxes, bows, and slips out of the room with a defeated slant to his shoulders.

Hubert will have to work quickly to get ahead of him.

  
  


***

  
  


Hubert delegates all of his remaining work to the back burner. Ferdinand is the priority, as he always should have been. He cleans up his desk, makes sure he has his new, sharpened razor, and grabs his cloak as he heads out the door, minutes after Haas.

The opera house isn’t much of a walk. The autumn sun hangs low in the cold, pink sky and people are milling around the fountain as they soak up the last of the day’s sunlight. Ferdinand is not in the fountain. The base of the statue glitters in the dusk light and while Hubert worries, he’s not terribly surprised to see that he’s not here. The merman has already abandoned it for now. Hubert has no business with it as well. And he’s willing to bet Voronin didn’t either. The more interesting point here is the canal itself.

Starting from the fountain, Hubert walks downstream. Going down over the dams would be much easier for Ferdinand to navigate than lifting that heavy muscular tail over the upstream side, so if he were to leave his nest he would most likely head in this direction. Now then, suppose Ferdinand wanted some privacy. At the next intersection the merman would not go left, further into the city, but rather he would take a right, behind the opera house.

Hubert makes it less than two blocks before he finds it, in the shadow of another bridge. A thick loop of rope leading below the waterline, anchored on a small peg in the side of the canal normally used when moving larger cargo through the city. He jerks the loop off the peg and pulls it along with him across the bridge to the other side where, of course, he finds another loop. He begins to haul it out of the water, puffing at the weight of so much thick, heavy rope. A net, woven of diamonds as big as a watermelon. This isn’t someone trapping crabs, or fishing for carp. Voronin and her men have spent the past night setting merman traps.

_Damn._ He’d suspected it as soon as Haas told him the Faerghans had made multiple stops before settling at the tavern but seeing it, feeling the evidence in his hands… He swallows hard around his heart. He drops the net in a pile beside the canal in heads towards the tavern.

They aren’t there, and unfortunately he can’t say he’s surprised to see that either. There’s space for patrons to leave their carts along the street and beside the building, but it doesn’t take long at all for Hubert to see that the Faerghan’s cart isn’t among them. Now he’s got two questions he needs to answer, and quickly. Have they already netted Ferdinand, and if so, how far behind them was he? If he were to take Haas at his word, the nets have been up for almost an entire day.

Goddess, he could be _hours_ behind.

  
  



	5. Chapter 5

He beelines to the outer walls, where the canals are wide and sluggish. Ferdinand had told him he was hiding around here.

Best case scenario, Voronin is gone and forgotten, having given up on waiting for the traps too long lest someone else find them, and that Ferdinand is willing to listen to his apologies after a bit of time to cool off after that stupid stunt with the collar. Or Voronin is still here and he finds her and, yeah, fuck it. He’ll escort her out of the city himself and leave the guard knowing on no uncertain terms that she and any of her entourage are not allowed reentry.

He’s going over what threat would be suitable to put the fear of the goddess into the guards while also not asking for _another_ of Edelgard’s lectures on scaring the people that work for them when he catches the first sign of the Faerghans.

A turquoise necklace, glittering on the dark street stones.

He approaches and sees a cluster of fat, dark spots around the jewelry, smeared and spattered haphazardly around the lip of the canal. Blood, unmistakably. He scuffs a particularly large spot with the toe of his boot and it smears thickly, leaving a ring behind. Congealed. Not fully dried, but nearly so. It’s cool, but humid and in the low lantern light he can see the damp outline of the struggle, the wavy pink outline where the water washed out more blood. He kneels. Right on the edge, between two stones, a cluster of small, orange shapes glitter. Hubert pinches them, deposits them in his palm and any hope of Ferdinand making away with only wounding one of the bastards dissolves.

“Oh, fuck you,” Hubert growls. He counts ten or twelve scales, bent and bloodstained, each about the size of his thumb tip. If they’re going to try and smuggle a merman, the least they could do was be gentle with him. But by the sheer amount of blood around him, he very much doubted they would risk injuring their merchandise so severely. No, Ferdinand almost certainly gave as good as he got.

Hubert estimates that he could be anywhere between fifteen minutes to an hour behind them. But undoubtedly, they were still close enough that he could catch up if he didn’t squander his time.

A bit of searching turns up a few more blood drops across the street, through and intersection and down the street leading towards the north. He’s willing to bet they’re heading towards the gate. No matter what, she would have to go North to get home, and given enough time, he would eventually catch up to her on the northern highway. But, he would like to catch her at the gate. She has Ferdinand with her, in who knows what kind of state. It may be difficult to get him back to Enbarr.

Would he even _want_ to return?

Honestly, if he were in Ferdinand’s place he would never come back to this city again. Not after Hubert failed to keep him safe. Be that as it may, it’s also unthinkable to leave Ferdinand to his fate. Whether he winds up returning Ferdinand to the river, or the sea, or back to Enbarr, it’s fully within the merman’s right to choose. He had no choice in being bundled into a cart and sold off into the cold waters of Fhirdiad.

He stops looking and takes a moment to calm his breath, tell himself the thought that Ferdinand _wouldn’t_ return with him didn’t bother him as much as it did. He closes his eyes and pictures the Northern gate, the red flags, the massive wooden doors, the guard tower larger than the others. Then he casts warp. A looping, weightless feeling, the smell of ozone and a ringing in his ears and suddenly he’s there, a horse puffing nervously a bit too close for comfort. Hubert shakes off the tingling, static feeling of the magic and takes a couple steps forward out of the way and glances over his shoulder.

The guard’s brows shoot up under the rim of his helmet as he reigns his horse tighter. It’s ears swivel back and it gives Hubert a distrustful look, even after the guard soothes it with a pat on the neck. Then the guard seems to remember himself, snaps up in the saddle and salutes.

“Sir?”

“Did a group of Farghan merchants come through here tonight? It wouldn’t have been long ago.”

“No, sir.”

“What about injuries?” Hubert asks. Goddess, he’ll lose so much time if he can’t get a better track on them. The fear is set aside almost as soon as it comes to mind when then guards eyes flash in recognition.

“Oh, yes. A blond woman had a terrible gash on her arm. We tried to convince her to stay and let us get a healer but she wouldn’t hear of it. Only said she knew one just outside the city. They seemed like they were in a rush.” A beat, and then the guard leans down conspiratorially. “They would be the ones we were supposed to be keeping an eye on, right?”

“You didn’t think that was at all suspicious?” Hubert asks. The guards mouth twists, hurt.

“Of course I did! Uh, excuse me, sir, but there’s only a few of us on duty right now. Not enough to detain all of them if they didn’t wish to be, especially since we couldn’t find anything in their cart we could use as an excuse to keep them here either.” So, Hubert thinks, they had to have hidden Ferdinand somehow if the guards hadn’t seen him in the cart. “We _had_ to let them loose. We sent one guy back to the castle for backup, and me and a couple other men were going to track them down in the meantime. It’s only been about an hour, it shouldn’t be difficult to find them again.”

“What’s your name? Hubert asks.

“Oh? I’m Arnold,” He points down the road, where two more guards on horses are waiting on them, one looking back while the other is already meandering distractedly down the road. “The one actually waiting for us is Voigt. The other is Wolf. Between the three of us I think we can track them down.”

“Good. Let me get a spare horse. I’m coming with you.”

Within ten minutes Hubert and the three guards are leading their horses down the highway North of Enbarr at a canter. The highway is a road all on its own for several miles so, assuming Voronin hasn’t pushed her men and her cart to the absolute dangerous limit, there should be little doubt that they’ll be able to catch up before the first fork. A single person or small group could slip into the woods or fields that line the road, but Voronin got greedy with Ferdinand. They were stuck lugging an angry merman around in a cart and she’s already wounded besides. They would have to stop and deal with one or the other before long.

They go along for nearly two miles before Wolf, always wandering impatiently ahead, finally slows his horse and leads towards the right side of the road, edging along the thin line of trees. Hubert and the others pull their own horses to a stop in for a long minute they sit in tense silence. Then he hears it.

“They’re talking,” Arnold, mutters. After a moment Hubert hears it as well. Voices, and the splash of water. The nervous bray of a mule. Wolf pushes into the brush first and the others follow close behind onto a rough crushed trail that quickly gives away to a rocky riverbank. The Faerghans are a hundred yards further down at the end of two muddy ruts against the water. Their wheels are caked, sunk into the sandy mud nearly to the spokes. Two Faerghans are hauling buckets of water out of the river while another two are in the cart, crowbars in hand. A fifth tries to calm the mule as it kicks the cart. Further up the bank sits Voronin, her blonde hair shimmering in the moonlight, cradling her shredded and bloodied sleeve against her chest.

“Boss--” one of the men in the cart notices them first, hefting his crowbar.

“Drop the weapon, get out of the cart, and you’ll live beyond the next five seconds,” Hubert snaps, curls of black magic already forming at his hand. Arnold makes a surprised, gasping laugh at the threat even as he and the others trot past him, hands on the pommels of their swords.

“Do as he says, you stupid bastards,” Voronin snaps at her own man. He drops it atop the crate. “Where would be go? Just take your lumps. No use in dying over a fucking fish.” Hubert lingers back as the guards secure the Faerghans peacefully and line them up along the bank beside Voronin. Only Voronin herself avoids the chains behind her back, but only when she presents her injured arm, two big thin slices deep into her forearm and a semicircle of punctures in the meat of her hand. So Ferdinand had managed to bite her pretty severely.

“I’d think your tale of Rowe losing his fingers would be enough warning not to try it yourself,” Hubert says, swinging down off his horse in front of Voronin. Voigt bandages her injury with supplies from her own stock while Arnold calms their mule. Wolf stands behind the Faerghans, hand on sword. Hubert continues. “He may not be worth dying for, but all of this is? Why not just take my answer as a loss and find your profit elsewhere?” With the mule unhooked from the cart and Voronin patched up, the guards start leading the Faerghans up to the road to wait for their reinforcements once Hubert motions that he’s fine on his own.

“I’d think the Emporer’s spymaster would realize this isn’t a standard deal, yes? You know how the black market works?” she says, and Hubert knows, instantly, that Ferdinand was never destined for Fhirdiad at all.

“I once sold a minor lord from Morfis a puffin for half a million gold. Why so much for just one little bird, you ask? Because he’d never seen it before. Because he thought his daughter would find it cute. Because I told him it was rare and he believed me. I just happened to have it, and he just happened to see it. And guess what? There’s hundreds, thousands of those birds the eastern coasts. Can you imagine? I was kicking myself because I didn’t hold onto the other two or three I’d grabbed long enough to really make a payday.”

“Then who were you selling Ferdinand to?”

She shrugs. “The highest bidder. Those people. They _live_ in gold. Mers are so rare and finicky. The only people who can keep one has enough space and pride and stupid wealth to throw it away on a living trophy. So, who knows? I was expecting to get enough out of him to retire. Enough to make the fact that I can’t feel my thumb anymore a simple occupational hazard.”

“You’re disgusting,” Hubert growls.

“Says the man who would kill me in an instant, purely out of spite, if he didn’t think I had any worthwhile information,” Voronin muses. Pebbles crunching under boots and Hubert looks up to see the Arnold making his way back towards them.

“Guards from the city are here,” he says as he approaches. With Hubert’s help, they get Voronin to her feet. “What’s your call?”

Hubert motions towards the street, and the other Faerghans. “The lower cells,” then to Voronon: “Solitary.”

“Are you making plans already?” Voronin asks, her voice drips with such sweet malice that Hubert thinks he may be luckier than he realized that’ she’s outnumbered and injured. This is the cutthroat type of person even he would be wary of cornering in an alleyway.

“You have no idea. Where’s Ferdinand?” he asks.

“I suppose you should grab a crowbar,” Voronin says. Arnold rolls his eyes and steers Voronin up the bank. Hubert remains the only one on the beach. Stones clatter with his steps as he approaches the cart, distant calls of the guards to each other up on the road. He circles around to the end of the cart, hops in under the arched cover, and instantly realizes the cart is filled with water to just above his ankles and the entire interior is black and rough with a layer of pitch. The same massive crate he’d seen the Faerghans wrestling dominates the space in the cart and a pile of frayed rope rests in the corner. The instant the cart rocks under his weight, a low, _furious_ hissing issues from the box. Hubert grabs a crowbar discarded atop the crate.

“Ferdinand?”

“Let me out!” the merman snaps. The box shudders with his wriggling. “It is dark and cramped and I shall make whoever put me in here sorely regret it! Where am I?!” Hubert makes to fit the crowbar under the lid but it once again lurches as Ferdinand struggles.

“Darling, hold still,” Hubert huffs, sets a hand on the crate as if he could comfort the merman through it. “I have to pry the lid off.”

“Hurry…” Ferdinand whines. “My tail hurts…” Hubert hooks the crowbar and wrenches it once. The corner comes up and Hubert sees a hint of scales and jewelry glittering in the scant light. He moves it up and twists it again, and once more, and on the fourth go the lid creaks and snaps up under the pressure of Ferdinand’s tail. Hubert catches it, tosses the crowbar out the back of the cart and rocks the lid back and forth until it comes free. He struggles tossing the nail studded thing out more than he’d readily admit, but he eventually gets it.

Ferdinand slings his tail over the side of the crate with a tired whimper and Hubert _burns_ with frustration. It had to take every Faerghan to get him in there; his tail curled nearly in half. Blood stains Ferdinand’s chin and chest, his nails reddened as well as he grips the edge of the crate. Rope is coiled around his wrists and upper arms, more around his waist and the end of his tail. They must have restrained him while he was still netted. What a macabre skill a poacher has. His hair has had enough time to dry completely and it’s been left mussed and tangled in the ordeal. Ferdinand catches his breath, then pulls himself over the lip of the box with shaky arms. He flattens himself on his stomach in the shallow water in the bottom of the cart, panting as he continues to nibble at a loop of rope around his wrist. In the bottom of the crate there’s a mess of shredded rope and short lengths; he’s been chewing and clawing his way out of his bonds since he’d been nailed in.

Hubert gingerly steps across Ferdinand’s tail, silently hoping the merman remains docile, or too tired, to take a swing at him. As he moves, he makes a note of the pale, slightly bloodied patch on Ferdinand’s hip where his scales are damaged, or altogether missing. One of the first things to do when he gets back is to research what he can do about repairing that. He kneels by Ferdinand’s head. The merman lays still, panting.

“Will you be alright?” he asks. Ferdinand is quiet for a long moment as, after seemingly being satisfied that he’s gotten the rope from his wrists, starts to wash his face in the shallow water.

“You came for me,” he finally says, swinging his little tail with a little wince and waving water across his back.

“Yes, I did. I was worried about you,” Hubert says. Ferdinand shoves his face in the water and starts to drink but quickly spits it back out. “Hold on.” Hubert jumps out of the back of the cart and quickly locates one of the discarded buckets. He takes it, wades out knee deep into the river and scoops up a full bucket of cold, running water. He hauls it back, struggles just a little to lift it over the edge of the cart. Ferdinand drinks deeply and purrs.

After he’s had his fill, he dumps the rest over his head and shivers. “You know, I only thought you were actually working with them for a moment. I did not think they would actually…” Ferdinand trails off, his expression dropping to something pained and sad.

“Oh, darling,” Hubert soothes quietly. He doesn’t realize what he’s said, or what he’s doing, until his fingers are already sinking into Ferdinand’s hair, easing it out of his face. The merman’s eyes go wide, but ultimately he allows it, pushing gently into Hubert’s palm. “I’m so sorry this happened. I should have gotten rid of them the instant you told me they were bothering you.”

“I bit her,” Ferdinand chirrs softly.

“You certainly did. I saw,” Hubert praises. “Quite a nasty wound indeed.”

“Where are they? I thought they were going to open the box but then it sounded like a bunch of other people showed up and then it got quiet,” Ferdinand says. As if to assure himself of this fact, he pushes up onto his arms and peers out of the back of the cart, focusing on the flickering edge of torch lights moving around at the top of the hill, along the road.

“We arrested them. They’ll have an escort all the way out of Adrestia, I assure you.” A shamed pause. “For what that’s worth.”

“I’ll bite her again.” Hubert chuckles.

“I’m sure you will,” he says. There’s a lull in the conversation then as Ferdinand lays down again and closes his eyes. He allows Hubert to stroke his hair, run his thumb along a slightly pointed ear. “Ferdinand.”

“Hm?”

“Do you want to go back?” he asks. Ferdinand takes a slow, deep breath. Hubert has failed this beautiful creature. Ferdinand warned him and he was too lax, and thus allowed him to be shoved in that little box to be sold off to who even knew where. Ferdinand had come frighteningly close to becoming nothing more than someone’s pet for a stranger’s profit. Who was he to just assume Ferdinand would want to return to Enbarr with him, back among the public? Ferdinand opens his eyes and rolls onto his back. His tail sways gently, sloshing through the water. Some waves over the damaged spot on his tail and Ferdinand grumbles, fingers straying near the damaged scales.

“What do you mean?” the merman asks.

“We’re on the river. You can stay here if you don’t feel that Enbarr is safe for you anymore. I’ll even have you taken to the ocean if you’d like. Whatever you want, Ferdinand, just tell me, and I won’t leave you until it’s done properly this time,” he says. Thank the goddess it’s dark. Just saying that is making him want to cool his face in this water as well.

“Truly?” The merman asks. His voice carries a soft innocence to it, but his smile is knowing, calculated. “ _Whatever_ I want?”

Oh, that may have been a dangerous thing to offer. But Hubert clears his throat, gathers his nerves. “I’m tired of failing you,” just as he says this, he hears heavy footsteps and knows that Arnold and Voigt are returning to fetch the cart. They’ve probably already heard him, and as he glances out and finds them walking blithely past, he knows they’ve already seen him petting the merman with such affection. Well… let them. He’s tired of letting his own stubborn worries over his own reputation keep him from what he really wants.

“You mentioned the palace gardens,” Ferdinand starts. “I wish to see that sand you promised me.”

“You do?”

“You seem to think I am more delicate than I really am. The sea is a very rough and crowded place. That is why I cherish Enbarr so. Spoiled as I am,” Ferdinand says, lazily waving his decorated tail and hunting out Hubert’s hand with his own, squeezing tightly. “No human is a match for me. I will simply bite them again.” His tail shivers threateningly. “I will live. I dare say I am merely more annoyed than truly injured.”

Hubert grips Ferdinand’s hand tight, touching it to his own chest. “Then allow me to escort you there. There is no more pleasant place than the palace gardens.”

***

It’s slow going getting the cart unstuck and the mule happy enough to pull it back into the city, the Faerghans already well ahead of them and locked away. Hubert and the three guards help Ferdinand back into the canals just inside the city, and as the sun rises over the eastern roofs Hubert leads him into the gardens. The channel along the wall accommodates Ferdinand nicely and Hubert watches on patiently as the merman pauses here and there to admire the flowers. That is, until he sees the sand bar. Ferdinand chirps, lifting himself onto the cool, soft sand with a powerful swing of his tail.

“Do you like it?” Hubert asks, chuckling to himself as Ferdinand flattens himself into the sand, rocking his hips back and forth so the sand gives under his weight and creates a shallow divot for him to lie in.

“Magnificent. Exactly what I wished for.” Ferdinand spends another minute getting comfortable in his new nest, sinking deeper in and curling his tail just so. But Hubert can see that he’s being careful with the damaged patched on his hip. Surely it’s tender, but the castle doesn’t want for a healer.

He’ll have to find one to tend to Ferdinand soon. Perhaps he could convince Linhardt, but he’ll have to make sure he doesn’t prod Ferdinand too long to satisfy his own curiosity…

Edelgard will surely want to be involved in deciding how the Faerghans should be handled.

Dimitri deserves a letter informing him that poachers from his lands are trying to work in the Emporer’s own city. Surely he’ll be interested to hear Rowe’s named dropped (though now Hubert wonders how related he is to Voronin at all, and yet). Though, how strongly should he word such a letter…

And goddess, Dorothea will have to know about this as soon as possible. A shiver runs down his spine thinking of the hell she’ll give him for even allowing this to happen.

“Hubert?” Ferdinand starts. Hubert pulls himself from his thoughts and glances down to find Ferdinand gently waving his tail, his chin pillowed on his arms.

“Do you need something?”

“It is just… I have been in squished into a box and carted around all night and now I finally have my sand and I am so _comfortable_. Yet…” the merman trails off, but looks at him meaningfully. A long pause.

“Are you hungry,” he guesses. Ferdinand chirrs, low and, well, alluring, if the warmth in Hubert’s chest is anything to go by.

“I could easily hunt something for myself. However…” he purrs, arching his back. “You said whatever I want, yes?” Hubert huffs, amused. So much easier to read than Edelgard.

“And what would you like, Ferdinand? The palace kitchens are well stocked.” Ferdinand’s smile betrays just how much he’s enjoying being tended to. This one could be extraordinarily spoiled if Hubert weren’t careful.

“I want to see what you would think I like,” Ferdinand purrs. Hubert indulges him with a tiny bow. It’s fine for now. He’s been through a lot tonight, let him be spoiled today. He returns fifteen minutes later with a thick tuna steak and most of an octopus. Ferdinand seems delighted with his breakfast.

And then he promptly sleeps for the next sixteen hours.

***

Enbarr enters a mild winter and Ferdinand more or less spends all his time in the gardens. Within a few weeks the merman has moved most of his coins and sparkling collection to the garden nest until the entire patch of sand glitters with his hoard. It takes even less time for Hubert to adjust his morning routine around him. Instead of skipping breakfast, he’ll often have something along with his coffee. Not particularly because he himself wants anything, but because Ferdinand can, and often _will_ nick anything he likes directly from Hubert’s table. But his favorite, so far, was a fancy blend of fruity tea, which he insisted on having with Hubert just about every morning.

This particular morning however, Hubert has a bit more to offer him. And he’s quite nervous about it. He had always planned on selling the choker but he could somehow never bring himself to do so. It was stupid, but he still clung to the image of Ferdinand wearing his onyx choker. Of accepting his gift and, yes, he’ll admit now, his affections. Hubert could no longer deny his infatuation with the merman. Ferdinand had gotten used to him, he was happy in his garden, he took his breakfast with Hubert every morning and never seemed to tire of talking to _him_ of all people. Ferdinand made Hubert feel like someone worth spending time with, someone who made him happy. It was an odd feeling, but one Hubert was coming to crave.

Today, Ferdinand sits up tall beside Hubert’s chair. His tail, mostly healed and the scales coming back in, trailing into the pond. He’s playing with his hair, fussing with it in a way that Hubert’s never seen before. It had never struck him that Ferdinand particularly cared what his hair was doing, but now he appears worried about it, testing how it rests this way and that.

“It looks perfectly fine to me,” Hubert interrupts. Ferdinand jerks and glances at him over his shoulder as he’s still schooling his expression into a noble pout. “I can tie it up if you want.”

Ferdinand flicks his tail, humming and tossing his hair over his shoulder. “Dorothea told me _you_ were the one who always did Edie’s hair so pretty,” he says. He tries to sound disbelieving but Hubert has been around nobles and _Ferdinand_ far too long to miss the curious, hopeful glint in the merman’s eyes.

“Shall I?” he asks. Ferdinand chirrs softly and turns, sitting up nice and straight, his left hand digging lightly into the sand at his hip. It’s as much an invitation as he’s going to get. It’s all that he needs. Hubert turns in his chair and so he’s facing Ferdinand’s back, his knees bracketing either side of Ferdinand’s shoulders. Hubert gently pulls his fingers through the mer’s long, red hair. For his environment, it’s surprisingly soft when it’s dry like now, though it lacks the silkiness that comes with conditioning. Perhaps he could convince Ferdinand into allowing him to wash it for him someday…

For now, he gently works out the tangles with his fingers, trying to ignore the smell of clean water and flowers coming off of him, the warmth of his back on the insides of his thighs as the merman leans into his lap. Hubert takes perhaps more time than he needs to divide Ferdinand’s hair into pieces and twists them into a loose braid. But when he finishes, he indulges himself in playing with the ends of his hair between his fingers. Now, that box is burning against his chest.

“Ferdinand-”

“Hubert-”

“Ah-” Hubert stars, almost relieved to be interrupted. He pulls a spare length of ribbon from his jacket pocket and ties the ends together in a bow. “Go ahead.”

“Oh, well…” Again, Ferdinand digs his claws into the sand beside him, deeper, as if searching. “I have been holding onto something, and I suppose that, after everything, I no longer have a right to keep it from you.” The merman then produces what he’s been looking for. He twists to face Hubert and offers him his old razor.

Or, what _used_ to be his razor.

It’s been neglected for so long rust spots the blade and the handle has some very definite signs of… chewing. He runs his thumb over a patch of rough teeth marks. Ferdinand’s cheeks color and his sharp teeth flash into view for a moment as he runs his tongue along his bottom lip.

“I was quite frustrated with you sometimes,” the merman huffs. Well, that was fair. “But I kept it! I always intended to return it!” Hubert chuckles and tucks the razor in his breast pocket. He closes his fingers around the choker’s box instead.

“I suppose I wanted to give you something as well,” he says. Ferdinand gives a curious chirp as he pulls the box out. He leans forward, eager, and Hubert hopes to the Goddess that he recognizes the box and has it in him to forgive him. “The last time I tried to give you this, I had foolishly mistaken you as someone who could be bought. That isn’t true, and has never been true, and it was my mistake to ever think that. But I still always held onto the hope that we could…” he swallows thickly, nervous in a way so utterly foreign to him. _Lovesick._ It comes to him in a single word, and in a moment he knows it’s true. “stay together, and that someday I would be able to offer this to you once again and you would see it as what I originally intended it to be.” He opens the box. Ferdinand’s mouth quivers as he looks at the choker with wide eyes. “As a sign of my affection, and nothing more.”

“Oh, Hubert…” Ferdinand breathes. He takes the choker up, holds it delicately in his hands. He’s quiet for a long moment and suddenly Hubert is scared that he’ll once again be turned down. “I had hoped you had kept it… I always told myself I would accept it if you ever offered it again. Especially since I started staying here. In the gardens.”

“You did?” Hubert asks, sounding too breathless in his own ears. Ferdinand grins and offers it too him and then turns back. He pulls his braid aside and exposes his neck. Fingers shaking, Hubert loops the choker around the merman’s neck, clasping it against warm, tanned skin. Ferdinand drops his hair and trills, pleased and leans back so his head rests against Hubert’s knee.

“Yes, because I had realized that I liked you quite a lot. I knew then that you were telling the truth when you told me you wanted nothing more than my own happiness. I would not be here without you, Hubert, and I would not have it any other way. I adore you.”

“And I you, Ferdinand,” Hubert breathes. He traces the pad of his finger for only a moment over the black jewel, but more stunning than any piece of jewelry is the merman wearing it. His hand trails up, cupping Ferdinand’s cheek, his thumb tracing over his gorgeous smile. He leans forward and Ferdinand’s fingers tangle in his hair as their lips meet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading! I had a ton of fun writing this, I LOVE Merdie like a child and it was really gratifying to finally get some of my mermaid headcanons out in the wild.
> 
> Merdie gets chubby immediately after this because he realizes that Hubert loves him enough to feed him. Hubert enjoys spoiling him way more than he will ever actually admit.

**Author's Note:**

> I have a twitter but I don't really use it. @Quiddid


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